Sweet Innocence
by contrite shadow
Summary: You're fifteen years old, a model student and obedient daughter, and about to go on your first date; a rock concert. You're content to avoid the mosh pit, and be chaperoned by a responsible adult. No problem, right? What if your father is Christian Grey? Sweet Innocence - a light gray with a hint of lavender, by Benjamin Moore.
1. Chapter 1

Sweet Innocence – a light gray with a hint of lavender, by Benjamin Moore

Ana arrives home to bedlam. At first unable to discern what Christian and Phoebe are arguing about, she follows the noise until she can hear her husband's too-calm voice (she knows that deceptively serene tone so well) say, "This discussion is over, young lady. You'll either comply with my wishes or be permanently grounded. And, no matter what else happens, you're never going out in public dressed like _that_!"

Since Phoebe became a teenager—a little longer, to be completely honest—her angry voice has become known to, not just her parents, but their entire staff. "This isn't a discussion. It's never a _discussion_. You always just expect me to do whatever you say. I'm not a kid anymore, Dad. I can make decisions for myself."

"Oh, yes, we've just had a prime example of your decision-making capabilities; trying to sneak out and go to a concert, without a protection officer, despite the fact that both I and your mother made it _very_ clear that you're too young to go at all. Which reminds me; if that boy who was lurking by the gate ever again comes within a hundred yards of you or this house, I'll have him shot."

_Oh, Lord; please let him be joking. _Accelerating her pace to intercede before things get worse, Ana is almost to them when Phoebe shouts, "You can't fucking control everything I do!"

"I can, and I will. While you live under this roof, you'll do as we say. And I'll ask you to curb your language when you speak to me, just as I've always done for you."

Christian's calm tone and manner apparently driving Phoebe to new heights of rage, their darling daughter spits out, "I hate you! I fucking _hate_ you."

Ana enters the room just in time to hear Christian mutter "Join the fucking club," as Phoebe pounds up the stairs, even her footsteps expressing fury, with the final punctuation of a slammed bedroom door echoing through the house.

Clearly, she's too late to fulfill her unofficial role as family mediator, so Ana tries for levity. "Hi, honey; I'm home."

Christian doesn't even turn around, his gaze fixed on the top of the stairs as he sighs and asks, "You heard?"

"Darling, I think even Teddy heard."

Their son is three thousand miles away, having just started at Harvard; much to his father's delight and his mother's dismay—she'd been hoping he'd choose Stanford; it's closer. It's enough to elicit a soft laugh from Christian and he finally turns to greet her with open arms as he admits, "Yeah." Then kissing her, as if that alone can make everything all right, he says, "Hey, baby. I'm sorry you had to come home to that. How was the meeting?"

"Good; another million dollar book deal in the bag. Worried, yet?"

"Considering that I made at least that much just today; no. But I'm so proud of you, baby."

He means it. She can tell. "Thank you, darling." Then reaching up a hand to tenderly soothe the lines on his brow, she asks, "You okay?"

Surrendering to her compassion, Christian lets her see the pain he's in—his face contorted with grief—as he says, "She said she hates me…she's never gone that far before."

Her heart aching for him _and_ Phoebe, Ana says, "But you know she doesn't mean it; not really."

"Yeah, I know, but it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. I can't seem to…we can't communicate anymore without her screaming at me and running to her room."

"Drink?"

He's obviously tempted, but says, "No. I'll give her a chance to cool down while I work out her punishment. I'll need a clear head for that conversation."

Slipping the tip of her index finger through one of his belt loops, she drags him towards the stairs. "Okay. Let's go to bed in the meantime."

Now smiling, Christian lets her lead him as he says, "Uh, not that I'm complaining, but don't you want to know what happened?"

"I got the general gist of it; Phoebe tried to sneak out and go to that concert with a boy. But that wasn't the most important detail of what I just heard."

Removing her hand from his belt and bringing to his lips before holding it as they ascend the stairs, Christian says, "No? Because I thought that a fairly fucking relevant fact."

Ana stops their progress, takes the step above him, turns and rests her hands on his shoulders as she says, "Oh, it is. But I'm talking about the fact that you said, 'You'll do as _we_ say.' You included me, even though I wasn't here."

Grinning, his hands on her waist, Christian says, "Maybe I want you to share some of the blame?" When Ana gently pushes on him, silently threatening to shove him down the stairs, he laughs and says, "Okay, okay. Yes, we're a team. That's true whether or not you're actually with me."

"And this is why we're going to the bedroom."

His gaze suddenly intense, Christian puts one arm along the banister, the other under the small of her back, and lays her down on the carpeted stairs, following her with his body as he says, "I'm not sure I can wait that long."

Laughing, even as passion floods through her body, Ana says, "I'm afraid it'll be a few more years before we can again fuck on the stairs whenever we want to." As if she hasn't even spoken, Christian tugs the hem of her blouse free from her skirt and commences kissing her midriff. "Christian, I'm serious; Phoebe might come out of her room."

Not even lifting his head, Christian murmurs against her skin, tickling her with his evening stubble, "You know very well she's not putting a foot out here unless I drag her, and it would serve her fucking right if she did."

"Okay."

That gets his attention. Christian lifts his head and studies her expression as he asks, "You'd let me fuck you, right here, where our daughter might find us?" When she offers only a Mona Lisa smile, he complains, "I fucking hate it when you do that."

Of course she knows, but "innocently" asks, "Do what, darling?"

Christian is already helping her to stand as he says, "Know me well enough to call my bluff."

"I know you love our daughter."

She realizes it's one of those rare times that he's not in the mood for sex, when he sits down and says only, "Yeah."

They didn't have this problem with Teddy; their golden boy having inherited his mother's tranquility. Oh, he'll fight tooth and nail if he thinks some injustice is being perpetrated, but most of life's stressors roll off his imperviously good nature. Hesitating only long enough to think of the right phrasing, Ana sits beside Christian and suggests, "Maybe it's time to try something new; grounding her doesn't seem to be working."

Turning his harried gaze on her, he attempts a smile and says, "At this stage I'm happy to consider anything, babe. We can't go on like this; she'll be driven to do something reckless."

"Do you accept that, at fifteen, she's old enough to understand adult concepts?"

"Did you see what she's fucking wearing tonight? I'm pretty sure there are parts of this very country where such an outfit would get her arrested."

Accepting that as an affirmative reply, Ana says, "Then I think it's time to tell her why she will never go anywhere without a bodyguard."

"I _did_ fucking tell her. She knows that simply being our daughter makes her a target. And we both told her that, though her favorite band is now clean and sober, their fans aren't necessarily as enlightened; drugs would handed out like candy at that concert. I mean, I trust her not to knowingly take any, but…fuck, you know what I mean. And that's only one of the dangers at a gig like that."

He's pretty worked up. Not confident that he's ready to hear her plan, Ana's heart is beating loud as she says, "Not quite what I meant. I think…maybe it's time to tell her everything."

Clearly confused, Christian says, "My childhood? How the fuck would that help? She doesn't need that shit in her head."

"Well, that too, but I mean all of it; your early upbringing, the constant threats, my kidnapping and…and I think we should tell her and Teddy how he got that scar."

Even as she finishes speaking, Christian is shaking his head. "No. No fucking way. You promised that, if I saw Flynn, I'd never have to speak of it again."

She suspected it would be too much, "Okay, not the scar, but she needs to know the rest of it, Christian, because she has no idea why her life has to be like this. You know how smart she is; she'll find a way to escape her minders. And she's already in danger if our staff have to watch her every move as well as keep an eye out for potential threats."

He groans, as if in pain, and says, "Yeah, I know. Taylor said as much to me tonight; reminded me how difficult it was to protect _you_ before you understood why it was necessary." That reminder makes them both smile, but only for a moment, and a solemn mood again descends over them. Bringing one hand up to gently caress her face, Christian adds, "Okay if we fuck later, baby? I need to think about this."

Knowing him well enough to guess that he means alone, Ana says, "Of course, darling. I'm with you, whatever you decide. I know you'll do the right thing."

"Thank you, baby." Kissing her as if they've never had a care in the world, Christian then affectionately rubs his nose against hers and murmurs, "I _will_ be glad when I can again fuck you wherever and whenever I wish."

Christian asserting his dominance is still the one thing guaranteed to get her in the mood, but she also knows that he remains in love with her defiant nature, so she grins and teases, "I'm sure you meant to say 'wherever and whenever _we_ wish'."

His gaze darkens with sudden lust, his soulful gray eyes practically black with the intensity of his craving, and he says, "Oh, baby, I love you. When this is sorted I'm going to take my time making you regret that."

This, right here; this they've always got right. "Promise?"

He again kisses her, not tenderly this time; but passionately, desperately, hungrily…hard enough that there's a metallic taste in her mouth when he finally draws back, his chest heaving as his body struggles to get enough oxygen to fuel his desire. She knows that taste; one of them drew blood. For the life of her, she doesn't know which of them now has a slight cut inside their bottom lip; her brain too consumed by her need for him, to be concerned with such trivialities. Christian is staring seemingly into her soul when he vows, "Yes."

* * *

Finally cried out, but still furious, Phoebe does what she can to repair her appearance and phones Billy. Just the sight of his concerned face on the tiny screen improves her mood, until he greets her with, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me that your parents hadn't given you permission? It scared the shit out of me when the alarm went off. And I thought that old fucker was going to kill me! Is he armed?"

He can only mean Uncle Jay. Suddenly feeling defensive of the man who's been like a second father to her, Phoebe says, "Always, but he wouldn't need that to kill you. And I'm fine, thanks for asking." It's a little unfair of her to play for sympathy; the fact that he's using such language is proof of how upset he is.

His expression immediately softens and he says, "Sorry, Bee. But I arrive to take you to the concert, and instead get warned off by some grandpa with a death glare. No wonder you were adamant that your parents didn't want to meet me. Are you okay? I'm guessing you're grounded for eternity?"

"I presume so. Dad has this policy of never administering punishments while he's angry. I don't know if he realizes that waiting becomes part of the punishment." She's not used to saying it, so hesitates a little, nervously biting her lip, then says, "I'm sorry, Billy. I should have told you. Would you have still taken me if you knew I was sneaking out?"

His sudden grin reminding her why she's had a crush on him for what seems like forever, she nevertheless suspects he's joking when he says, "Probably." Then he frowns and asks, "Why _didn't_ you tell me? I thought we had an honesty thing going?"

Squirming, Phoebe says, "Yeah, I…uh, I'm not sure. I guess I was embarrassed. You're so normal and I'm so…Christian Grey's daughter."

Again smiling, Billy teases, "Oh, I see; you think that you're all that because your daddy is on Forbes' Top Ten Billionaires?"

Glaring at him, Phoebe says, "Not what I meant, and you know it. My family is…odd. For my seventh birthday, all I wanted was a party at Chuck E. Cheese; like a regular kid. Instead, Dad rented the entire restaurant for the afternoon; just me, my friends and their parents…oh, and a small army of security officers, of course. And I feel like a freak, going everywhere with a bodyguard…people stare at me all the time."

"People stare at you because you're a knockout."

He's the only person who can make her blush, and he can do it so easily. Phoebe can't quite meet his eyes as she says, "I doubt it."

"I don't."

They're quiet for a while, just content to smile at each other over this suddenly insufficient medium, then she says, "I want you to go to the concert."

"I can't go without you. We've been looking forward to this for weeks."

"Please. I'll feel bad if you miss out because of me."

He's got his thinking face on; she loves that one…she loves all of them. "I've got a better idea. Go find your dad and give him the phone."

Not sure if she's heard right, except for her heart suddenly trying to get out of her chest from fright, Phoebe says, "What?"

Smiling at her shock, Billy carefully enunciates, "Find your dad and give him your phone. I want to talk to him."

"Are you mad? He'll flip out!"

"Then we'll be no worse off than we are now."

It's a good point. "All right, but if he kills you, I'll never forgive you."

* * *

Surprised at the knock on his study door, Christian says only, "Yes?"

He's even more surprised when the door opens to reveal a very nervous Phoebe. Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying; a sight that has always threatened to crack his heart in two. "Dad, can I talk to you?"

Presuming it's to beg for leniency, he hardens his heart and coolly says "You can always talk to me, Phoebe," and gestures to the nearest chair.

She doesn't sit, but says, "Uh, my…I have a boyfriend." His expression must betray his sudden shock, dismay, disappointment and rage, because she quickly adds, "Oh, not that we've…he wouldn't…he's a good person, Dad." Suddenly thrusting her phone at him, she concludes, "He wants to talk to you."

Accepting the phone as if it's a rattlesnake, Christian is pleased with how calm he sounds when he says, "Thank you, Phoebe; that will be all, for now."

She appears to be in a kind of emotional shock, numbly giving up her phone and turning to go. He can't leave it like that, so grabs at one of her hands and squeezes it in reassurance. She turns on him a smile like sunshine and kisses his cheek before leaving.

Steeling himself for a confrontation, he finally looks at the phone, to see a skinny, nervous teenager. This is her boyfriend? Christian could snap him in half without breaking a sweat. "To whom am I speaking?"

"Uh, William Blake, sir. Thank you, for agreeing to speak with me. May I start by saying that I had no idea you'd refused Phoebe permission to attend the concert...oh, not that I'm saying Phoebe did anything wrong; she was just—"

"Even the band's website says that it's not suitable for anyone under the age of sixteen. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you didn't know she's too young?"

Apparently, the kid has balls, because his expression hardens to meet Christian's hostility and he calmly says, "Yes, sir. Because I've been going to similar concerts since I was fourteen, with my parents' permission and accompanied by my older brother at that age, and I've never been refused entry. I don't do drugs, I have a perfect driving record, and I've had exactly one small drink of alcohol in my life and…and I love your daughter."

_Oh, fuck! This is so much worse than I thought. _"Get your ass over here."

"Sir?"

"I can see the playground behind you. You're three hundred yards from my house. Get your ass over here, so we can have a proper conversation. Someone will meet you at the gate."

And he's apparently smart, too, because he suddenly appears truly terrified, but says only, "Yes, sir."

* * *

As expected, Phoebe is nervously waiting nearby, when Christian emerges from his study. He returns her phone as he says, "Come in. I want to show you something."

He can see that Phoebe is bursting with questions about his conversation with Blake, but she wisely says nothing and meekly obeys him. This time she sits when he gestures to a chair. He puts the folder on her lap and silently instructs her to open it. The first is pretty bad; a scrawled promise to kill his family while he watches. Phoebe's shocked gaze flies to his and she asks, "Is this for real? Someone sent this to you?"

"To Grey House, yes. Your mother seems to think that you're ready to know why you've had a close protection officer assigned to you since you were born. I'm not so sure."

Despite Phoebe looking like an immature version of her mother, moments like these leave no doubt that she's _his_ daughter, too. Because she not only comprehends that he's issued a challenge, but silently accepts it, returning her attention to the increasingly horrific threats; some handwritten, others typed, several transcripts of online threats and a few painstakingly cut from magazines in an effort to conceal their origin.

He's already regretting taking Ana's advice, because Phoebe becomes quite pale as she delves into the sick minds of people who wish their family harm for no better reason than being famous makes him a target. He _hates_ this fact about his life; that becoming successful has put his family in the crosshairs, too. Of course, most of them are empty threats. But he knows, from bitter experience, that it only takes one determined psycho to bring his entire world crashing down upon his head.

Phoebe's done. With trembling fingers she touches the time stamp on some of them as she asks, "These are just from today?"

"Just from this evening, sweetie. After we…talked earlier, I asked Welch to send me these copies. He hands them over to the authorities each day. They have experts who can work out the most credible threats and do what they can to track them down. But the biggest danger comes from those who don't advertise their intentions. I've done what I can to keep your life free of such…darkness. But Mom's right; you need to know. Your actions this evening are proof of that."

She has the decency to look ashamed and says, "I'm sorry, Daddy. I don't hate you. I _couldn't_ hate you. I just get so mad when you won't listen to me."

"I know, Peaches. Unfortunately, you inherited your mother's temper."

They both smile at the blatant lie—Phoebe has, in fact, inherited the lethal combination of her mother's courage and her father's mercurial mood—and then she dares to ask, "How'd it go with Billy?"

"He's on his way; probably enduring a pat down and psychological torture from Taylor as we speak." She tries to remain calm, but Phoebe's hands betray her and nervously adjust her appearance, as if against her will. "You really like this kid?"

Is his daughter blushing? "Yeah, Dad; yeah, I do."

"Probably should cancel that contract I've had put out on him, then?"

"Can you smile when you say things like that, so I know you're joking?"

Still projecting icy calm, Christian teases, "Who said I'm joking?" The knock on the door makes her jump. He takes the now closed folder from her hands as he kisses her forehead and whispers, "Will you relax? He'll be nervous enough as it is."

As expected, on the other side of the door are a stony-faced Jason Taylor and a perspiring William Blake. Christian barely manages to keep from smiling when Taylor says "Your visitor, sir. Unless you need me for anything else, I'll be in the armory," but with a wink that the young man cannot see.

Christian knows very well that, at this time of night, Taylor will simply be spending time with his family. "Thanks, Jay." Handing over the folder, he adds, "Shred that, would you?" With a nod, Taylor accepts it and leaves.

He's almost feeling sorry for the kid. Blake is holding his ground, though; standing practically at attention and stoically meeting Christian's gaze. Extending his hand, the object of Phoebe's affection says, "A pleasure to finally meet you, sir."

Christian accepts the gesture, applying pressure until the kid grimaces. "Well, that remains to be seen, doesn't it? We're off to a rocky start."

When released, Blake lets his hand hang by his side, apparently ignoring the pain. "Yes, sir."

Okay, this kid is beginning to impress him; he's respectful, tough and courageous…even here, in the lion's den. And Christian is entirely confident that only someone with intelligence would catch the eye of his gifted daughter. "I'm going to fetch my wife, so that she can also meet you. You have five minutes to greet Phoebe, and you'd better fucking be in separate chairs when I return."

Visibly relaxing a little, and finally daring to glance behind Christian, where Phoebe is no doubt trying to reassure him with hand signals, Blake again says only, "Yes, sir."

* * *

Christian isn't quite to Ana's study when Welch calls. "Sir, I've found the connection; a William James Blake is in Phoebe's math class."

"She's two years ahead, so he's either seventeen or also a math wizard."

"Uh, not a math wizard, though his grades have improved since she started the advanced class. No way Phoebe would let him cheat off her work, so she's probably tutoring him. Zoe, of course, isn't allowed inside the room during class, so she couldn't have known." Christian considers the implications long enough that Welch adds, "Want a full profile?"

If he's trusting Phoebe with adult truths, he should trust her choice in boys, too. "I'll get back to you. That'll do for now, thanks."

"You got it, boss. Good luck."

Only one person is permitted to enter Ana's study without first knocking. When he silently opens the door, she's leaning forward, engrossed by something on her computer screen, and looks so lovely that, though he's seen the same sight countless times, it still somehow makes him believe that everything will turn out okay. Finally sensing his presence, she looks at him and smiles. "What did you decide?"

"That it's about time you visited an optometrist."

She leans back, away from the screen, and says, "Yeah, you could be right. Half the time I have to zoom in, just so I can read without getting eyestrain. But I meant; what did you decide about Phoebe's punishment?"

Gently pushing papers aside, he perches on the edge of the desk and studies her face as he asks, "Did you know she has a boyfriend?"

"What? No. Are you sure?"

Satisfied that Ana wasn't keeping this knowledge from him, Christian shrugs and says, "Pretty sure. He's in my study, with Phoebe, waiting to meet you."

"Oh. Well…what…I'm sorry, darling; I'm kind of in shock here."

Christian laughs, then hauls Ana to her feet and into his arms, "Right there with you, baby. I know we've discussed this possibility…inevitability, but it still somehow came as a surprise. Remember they skipped Phoebe another grade in math? I think he's in that class, so they've probably known each other a while."

"Well, have they…you know?"

"I'd rather _not_ know, but I don't think so. Zoe would have noticed something if they were fooling around. But…" Screwing up his face in disgust, Christian reveals, "He says he loves her."

Suddenly and obviously struggling to contain her smile, Ana says, "Oh dear. Are you okay?"

"No. I'll need that drink after this." His heart beating faster in anticipation of what he intends to do, Christian continues, "And, I think you're right. I already showed Phoebe this evening's death threats, and I want to tell her…baby, could you help me? I'm not sure I can do it without you."

Suddenly anything but amused, Ana visibly swallows and says, "Of course, darling. You want to do it now?"

"Yes, while my courage holds."

"You're not fooling anyone in this room, Grey; your courage always holds."

High praise indeed, from the bravest person he knows. It's also a lie, but he's glad of it. "Thank you, baby. You ready?"

"Not even nearly. But we'd better not leave them alone too long. Oh, how does Phoebe feel about _him_?"

Again grimacing, Christian reveals, "She unconsciously straightened her clothes and hair when I said that he was on his way."

Now unable to curb her smile, Ana says, "Well, that's not good."

Thoroughly kissing her, drawing strength from every second of that perfect union, Christian then says, "Don't mess with me, woman. I'm doing my best to be understanding, but I'm walking a knife's edge here and may still end the evening taking out a restraining order against the kid."

Smiling her love for him, Ana takes his hand and leads him from the room as she says, "No, you won't, because you're smart enough to know that would ensure she keeps seeing him."

Following, as if he has no will of his own, Christian pouts, "Fine. Then I'll just have him shot."

* * *

Billy can't believe his luck. He gets five minutes with Phoebe; no teacher or bodyguard? That's more time alone with her than he's had since they met. When she glances at the time, he jokes, "Am I boring you?"

Phoebe grabs his arm and drags him into the room as she says, "If Dad says five minutes; we have _exactly_ that long. Kiss me."

"What?"

"I was going to wait until after the concert, but we're not going, so…" Suddenly appearing unsure, Phoebe asks, "You don't want to kiss me?"

Glancing down at his trembling hands—seriously, that graying guy who met him at the gate could star in a horror movie—he says, "I've wanted nothing else since I met you, but I'm traumatized, Bee…I think even my fingernails are sweating."

"You've wanted to kiss me since we met?"

Well, that's encouraging; she looks _very_ pleased at the idea. "Just before, actually. You were standing up the front of the class being introduced by Ms. Jenkins, and looked too perfect to exist. I couldn't believe my luck when she told you to sit next to me."

God, how he loves it when she blushes and lowers her gaze, as if meeting his eyes is suddenly too much for her. Her voice is small when she reminisces, "You barely spoke to me."

"It's a wonder I could speak at all. My fingernails were sweating that day, too."

She's finally able to look at him, and the adoration shining from her eyes takes his breath away. It doesn't even feel like a choice when he steps forward and puts his arms around her. "You sure?"

Her shy nod is all the permission he needs. He's kissed before, but it was nothing like this; Phoebe's soft lips on his, her sweet breath and heavenly scent intoxicating him, her hands instinctively sliding around to caress his back, the exquisite feel of her body practically melting into his. She suddenly breaks away, leaving him in a daze, and glances at his groin as she incredulously exclaims, "It moved!"

One question answered; she's definitely a virgin, though she seems more intrigued than upset…another good sign. "Well, yeah. You're hot. It just means I want you. Doesn't mean I need to do anything about it, okay? I can wait."

She ponders the implications for a while, and then asks, "But we can kiss again?"

Thrilled that she wants to, he grins and says, "Assuming I live through this evening, we can kiss as often as you'd like…maybe not right now; I really don't want to be worried about concealing my erection when I meet your mother."

Phoebe giggles and agrees, "Good point." Suddenly serious—that adorable puckering of her brow expressing her concern—she says, "I won't let them break us up."

"Bee, you're only fifteen. The current life expectancy for men is seventy-seven, and I look after myself, so you've conservatively got me for sixty years; we don't need to rush. If they insist that we cool it for a while—at least until you're sixteen—I can live with that. We'll still talk every day."

"You'd wait for me?"

Sometimes, just sometimes, his heart, mind and mouth cooperate. "Only forever."

It seems as if his heart then actually stops for a few seconds when Mr. Grey's voice says, "Looks like you get to live, after all."

Breaking apart from Phoebe as if she's suddenly poisonous, he's facing the doorway as Mr. and Mrs. Grey enter; it's odd looking at an older, blue-eyed version of his girlfriend. His heart is now trying to leap out of his chest and his brain is frantically looking for a place to hide. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." _Oh, very articulate; way to impress them. _Extending his right hand, he swallows and says "William Blake, ma'am; a pleasure to finally meet you," then silently curses himself for saying practically the same thing he'd said earlier…it hadn't gone down so well.

This woman apparently has every ounce of grace her husband lacks, because she accepts the gesture—her grip firm but gentle—and smiles as she says, "Please call me 'Ana'. And it's a pleasure to meet _you_." Then releasing his hand, she adds, "I'd like to say that Phoebe talks of you often, but I'm afraid I learned only minutes ago that she has a boyfriend."

He can feel Phoebe tense beside him…weird; she seems more nervous of her mom than her terrifying father. Hoping to ease the situation, he explains, "Uh, well we're…we really only know each other from school, ma'am…Ana. Tonight was going to be our first date."

She arches one eyebrow and coolly says, "Oh? Then I'm sorry it's been ruined by Phoebe's deceit."

Okay, now he's seeing the terrifying. It doesn't feel like a choice when he angles his body to protect Phoebe, as if from physical assault, and says, "From what I understand, you left her little choice."

He only understands that he's passed some kind of test, when Mrs. Grey smiles warmly at him and then says to her husband, "Why don't we move this to the living room, where we'll be more comfortable?"

_Is the bastard smirking at me, or his wife? _Suddenly, nothing else matters too much, because Phoebe slips her hand in his and leads the way. He's thrilled when she chooses a sofa, so they can sit together; still maintaining an apparent death grip on his hand. Mr. Grey does _not_ like that, but he and Mrs. Grey sit on the sofa opposite and she asks, "So, how long have you two known each other?"

Billy looks to Phoebe, who's looking back at him, so he says, "Uh, almost three months. I'm in Bee…uh, Phoebe's math class…well, she's in mine, technically." Grimacing, he adds, "She's much better at it than I am, but I'm helping her with English."

Mrs. Grey eyes widen and she says, "You're the reason her grades improved?"

"I guess so, but Phoebe's done the same for me."

Turning to Mr. Grey, she says, "And he's modest, too."

This is starting to piss him off. "Ma'am, sir; while I appreciate this opportunity to meet you, I don't really understand what's going on."

He's surprised when Phoebe answers. "Mom and Dad want us to know that I'm in danger, so I won't try to sneak out ever again. If you were eighteen, they'd have you sign a non-disclosure agreement first, but it's not worth the paper it's printed on while you're a minor...it's not worth much even if you weren't."

Is that pride on Mr. Grey's face? "Phoebe's right. She often is. In fact, I'm counting on it; if she's right about you, we can trust you."

This, at least, he understands; the man is asking him a question. "Yes, sir. I won't discuss this with anyone."

"Thank you, son." Whatever he's about to say is difficult for him; he sighs and Mrs. Grey offers a subtle pressure on his hand…they're holding hands, too. "Have either of you researched our name?"

Billy hasn't…oh, he'd been tempted, but it just seemed too creepy to investigate the girl he liked. But Phoebe says, "I know that Mom was kidnapped when I was in pre-school, but I don't remember it."

"If you remembered anything it would only be Aunt Gail removing you from class and taking you to stay with Nan and Pop overnight."

Phoebe has many happy memories of the house at Bellevue, but nothing specifically like that. "Mom, what happened to the men? There were three of them, right?"

"Yes, but one was killed by his partners. The other two are currently awaiting execution in Oklahoma."

"They didn't hurt you?" Billy has never heard Phoebe sound afraid before.

"No, sweetheart. It was scary, mostly for your father, but I was pretty much drugged the whole time. They did intend to kill me though, as they had other victims. And the entire thing happened for no better reason than we have money."

Phoebe's distress lending him courage he didn't know he had, Billy swaps the hand she's holding so that he can rest an arm around her shoulders…Mr. Grey doesn't like _that_, either. _Fuck you, old man; she needs me._ The two males glare at each other for a while; no words needed for this argument. Amazingly, Billy wins the point, because Grey breaks eye contact, then glances at his wife before saying, "There's more. I keep what I can from becoming news. Remember, Phoebe, how I told you that the ones to be afraid of are those who don't advertise their intentions?"

She nods and explains to Billy, "Dad gets death threats…a _lot_ of death threats. He showed me the latest just before you got here."

Christian nods and explains, "Some people, when their life turns to shit, look for someone to blame. One such man was Samuel August Winter; an alcoholic whose drinking habit had already cost him connections with friends and family, including his wife and children. When it also cost him his job, he still didn't consider changing his behavior; he just went searching for someone to blame for it. Every employee of any company I own has one chance to overcome addiction if…usually _when_, it begins to affect their work. So Mr. Winter was paid his usual wage while he underwent therapy, but the treatment didn't take and he backslid into alcoholism. When this was discovered, he was terminated; technically at my instruction, but without my knowledge. Apparently, being addicted to alcohol is not enough to prevent a citizen legally acquiring a hunting rifle; he already owned the weapon." This is clearly not easy for the guy; he's breathing hard and some beads of perspiration are visible on his upper lip.

"Daddy, you don't need to tell me this. I'm not going to try sneaking out again. I promise."

With a kind smile, Christian says, "It's all right, Peaches; you are your mother's daughter, so I know you can hear this. And Mr. Blake needs to know just how much danger he's in when he stands by your side." Taking a deep breath, he continues, "It was just before you were born. I went for a run early that morning, same as I always do, though my minders insist on a varying route, to minimize the risk. Despite their cautions, there was one stop I always made." Then looking at Billy, he concludes, "That playground where you parked this evening."

"Oh, God…Teddy." Confused, Billy nevertheless guesses that Phoebe must be referring to the older brother she mentioned. He tightens his embrace a little, hoping to sooth her distress, and she offers him a weak smile, confirming, "My brother. He's the spitting image of Dad, except for a small scar on his forehead and a lock of bright white hair."

Grey is actually looking a little gray when he nods and says, "It's the only time I was stationary on those runs; when I was getting Teddy out of the stroller. We think Winter was aided and abetted by an old enemy of mine, though we never could prove it beyond a casual acquaintance. Of course, he needed a few drinks before finding the courage to hide in the bushes and shoot an unarmed man in the back."

The sudden hate emanating from the man convinces Billy—not that he really had any doubt—he'd better never make an enemy of Mr. Grey. Again, Mrs. Grey offers silent support, this time asking, "Okay, baby? Want me to take it from here?"

Grey smiles a little and shakes his head, then explains, "I'm supposed to avoid stress; doctor's orders."

Phoebe's voice is barely audible when she says, "I didn't know that."

His smile genuine this time, Grey says, "It's okay, Peaches; my health is not your concern, okay? And having a teenage daughter is surprisingly not the most stressful part of my life." Taking another calming breath, he reveals, "You've guessed it. We think he assumed I'd be wearing body armor, because he chose penetrating ammunition." Lifting up his shirt enough to show a small puckered scar just above his right hip, he continues, "The bullet passed right through me before fragmenting. It was one of those fragments that glanced off Teddy's two year old skull; putting him into a coma that lasted for three days, though thankfully did no apparent permanent damage…other than a fondness for fries in a hot fudge sundae; sadly, not a euphemism, but the literal truth."

No one laughs. In fact, a profound silence has descended on the room; seemingly on the world. Billy is thinking about the fact that it could have just as easily been Phoebe in the stroller, so he can't keep the anger from his voice when he asks, "He's dead, sir?"

"Yes. I only ever had one protection officer with me in those days, so they had their hands full and Winter escaped. But he committed suicide later that day. Apparently, the note said that he couldn't live with the guilt of having almost killed a child. Guess that means he wouldn't have felt guilty if he'd merely murdered that child's father." Then looking only at Billy, Mr. Grey says, "These are the people who hunt my family, Mr. Blake, intent on bringing us down, in one way or another. And they look like regular folk. You could be talking to someone and never know that they're plotting my destruction."

"I understand, sir. I would never do anything to put Phoebe in danger."

"Except take her into a mosh pit; a practice that could result in anything from minor injury to death."

Wondering why Phoebe didn't tell them; Billy quickly realizes that she probably never got the chance. "The tickets are seated, sir. I agree that Phoebe is too young for the pit, despite being allegedly proficient in Taekwondo."

"Allegedly? I could kick your butt right now, if you need proof." He knew she wouldn't be able let that slide, and smiles his victory at her outburst. She blushes and says, "Oh. You're teasing."

Mrs. Grey is smiling and asks, "Why do I get the feeling he does that often?"

"Because he does." Phoebe then sighs and asks, "Anyone else have a powerful urge to phone Teddy?"

Grey doesn't even glance at his watch to say, "We'll have to wait until tomorrow; it's after midnight in Massachusetts." Then standing, he offers his hand to Billy and says, "Turns out it _was_ a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blake." They're both standing and shaking hands when he adds, "Make sure you're back here in time to attend the concert tomorrow; you'll have a driver this time."

Billy glances at Phoebe, who is equally shocked, and says, "Uh, that's very generous of you, sir. But I only had tickets for tonight."

Phoebe is studying her father's face and soon says, "You've already bought them."

With an infuriatingly smug grin, Grey says, "Yes. They'll be delivered by morning. There's a price, of course."

Surprisingly, Phoebe looks happy when she says, "Of course."

From an outsider's perspective, it seems that Phoebe must be closer to her mom—given the startling physical resemblance—but she clearly has a deep, caring bond with her father, too. Billy is wondering what that says about him—don't girls who love their father end up with guys just like them?—when Grey reveals, "After tomorrow, you'll be grounded for a month. Or, I'll accept missing out on the concert and grounded for a week as your punishment. If you're old enough to know all this stuff, you're old enough to have a say, too."

Billy is wondering if "grounded" means the same thing in this family as in his. Phoebe confirms his worst fears when she says, "No phone or internet, except for homework, and no socializing outside school."

She seems to be leaving the decision up to him. Praying he hasn't guessed wrong, he says only, "I'd pay more than that for a first date with you."

Mrs. Grey finally stands, as if she'd been waiting for this cue, and extends her hand. "Well said, young man. If you arrive at six, you can have dinner with us before you leave."

Seriously, who the hell is in charge of this family? He's not used to it. In his house Dad is clearly the boss. But then he hasn't seen his parents hold hands since…he can't remember. For several years now, he's assumed that they're merely waiting for him to graduate before they get a divorce. Shaking hands, he says, "Uh, thank you, m…Ana. That would be nice. And everyone just calls me 'Billy'."

Just like with her daughter, Mrs. Grey's genuine smile has the powerful effect of making him want to do something to see it again, and she says, "Billy. I'm glad now that we let Phoebe attend the advanced class. I was worried that she would find it socially intimidating."

"Seems the only thing Phoebe finds intimidating is you." _Oh, crap! Did I just say that out loud?_

Phoebe laughs first, soon joined by her parents, and Mr. Grey eventually calms down enough to say, "Billy, you have no idea; my wife is the scariest person you'll ever meet. You'd be wise to remember that if you're going to be spending any time with this family."

He has no idea what's so funny, but he's glad to have not caused offence. "Yes, sir." It's gone so much better than he'd hoped, so he asks, "May Phoebe walk me out?"

Grey glances at his wife, who merely shrugs, and then he says, "I think that would be all right. Arrive early tomorrow, so you can meet Phoebe's CPO, Zoe, and learn what she expects of you."

"Yes, sir." This time Billy takes Phoebe's hand. When they're out of earshot he asks, "CPO?"

"Close Protection Officer; same as bodyguard. Zoe's cool, so long as you don't interfere with her work."

"Which is to keep you safe from kidnappers and snipers?"

"Amongst other things, yeah. You okay? I've never actually been in a situation like that. Dad's kind of obsessive about safety."

"Yeah, I got that impression from the cameras, traffic spikes, electrified fence, locked gates and American Jedi who frisked me for weapons the moment I got out of my car."

"I'm so sorry about that. You'll never have to endure that again. And Uncle Jay is a doll. He was probably giving you a hard time because they thought you were helping me sneak out."

"Yeah; don't ever do that again." Stopping their progress just short of his car, he gently pushes a lock of hair from her face and says, "I like your hair and forehead just the way it is."

This time he doesn't need to double-check that she wants him to kiss her; he can just tell. And she makes no comment on his growing erection when they finally end it, merely molding her body to his and leaning her head against his chest. God, he feels like he could do anything right now…certainly he'd do anything for her. He's wrapping as much of his arms as he can around her when she says, "Interesting evening, huh?"

He laughs and agrees, "Yeah; definitely not how I saw this playing out at all."

Lifting her head to smile at him, she asks, "How _did_ you imagine it?"

"I pictured us chatting the whole way to the concert. And…and after I parked the car, I was going to hold your hand while we walked to our seats."

"I would have let you."

He can't help a smile at that and says, "Evidently. Seems like you would have let me kiss you goodnight, too."

"Yes." She smiles up at him, then appears nervous when as she asks, "Sure you're okay with a month of no phone calls?"

"No. But you fucked up."

She glares at him for a moment and then says, "You're teasing me again."

Smiling, he says, "Yes. It'll be all right, Bee. We'll still see each other in class. And there's a badminton tournament coming up in a few weeks. Maybe they'll let you go, since it's technically a school event."

Her eyes alight at the thought, Phoebe asks, "You'll be playing?"

"I'll be winning."

She laughs—he loves that carefree sound—and says, "Pretty full of yourself, aren't you?"

Even his skin seeming to thrill while she's in his arms, he confesses, "I am tonight. You'd better go in, before he sets the Jedi on me again."

Phoebe giggles and says, "Uncle Jay is going to love that nickname."

"God, don't tell him I suggested it!"

"I told you; he's a doll…oh, but I suspect he knows at least fifty ways to kill you with his bare hands, so you'd better not break my heart."

His own heart beating faster at this confirmation of how much she cares for him, Billy has never been more sincere when he vows, "I couldn't. I'm yours."

This time she definitely kisses _him_, though he's certainly a willing participant. And she's already confident enough to slip her tongue past his lips to meet his; sending sparks of pleasure straight to his groin. He's breathing hard and literally dizzy when she finally ends it and says, "Yes, you are. Be really early tomorrow, so we can hang out."

Almost too happy for words, he manages, "Yes, Peaches."

Her eyes flash with sudden fury…yes, he loves that, too. "Nobody calls me that except my dad, and only because I can't make him stop."

Laughing, he says, "All right. I'm sorry. But you're just so easy to tease. Goodnight, Bumblebee."

This time he can tell that her anger is fake when she says, "Not much better. I'll see you tomorrow. And I'm sorry, for ruining your evening."

He really means it when he says, "I dunno; turned out okay. I like your parents. They seem really close."

With a faraway look in her eyes, Phoebe says, "Yeah. I used to resent it, when I was a kid; the fact that they're so obviously in love. Because I had a childish notion that it meant less love for me. But I see now that I'm lucky, and I get that there is no limit to love."

His heart again beating faster—it's suddenly a valid concern whether it will survive a real date with Phoebe—he suggests, "Let's test that theory."

It's the closest he's come to saying the "L" word to her, so he only releases the breath he's holding when she smiles and says, "Okay. But, for now, you'd better go. If we stay here any longer Dad will turn the sprinklers on."

Somehow finding the strength to release her, he kisses her cheek and promises, "Tomorrow."

* * *

Phoebe watches him get in his car and drive away; already missing him as the gates automatically release him to the night. She waves until he's out of sight, and is about to go inside when Taylor says, from right behind her, "I like him."

"Fu—!" Whirling on him and slapping his chest in shock, she shrieks, "Damnit, Uncle Jay! Why would you _do_ that? I nearly had a heart attack."

Laughing, he reaches out a hand to steady her and says, "Sorry, Fi; couldn't resist. 'Bumblebee', huh?"

Blushing—and hoping that's not becoming a trend—Phoebe explains, "Because I'm often clumsy around him. Mostly he calls me 'Bee'."

"And I like his nickname for me; might even add it to my business cards."

"You were lurking in the shadows this whole time?"

Taylor shrugs and says, "It's my job."

Suddenly remembering that she owes another apology, Phoebe says, "I'm very sorry that I tried to sneak out. I won't do that again."

"I'd appreciate it. And don't give Zoe a hard time, okay? She can't keep you safe if you fight her."

"I won't. And Billy will do the right thing. He always does."

"I'm very glad to hear it, because I actually know fifty-_one_ ways to kill him with my bare hands." Then kissing her forehead, Taylor says, "You'd better go in. I'm sure at least one of your parents will want to talk with you."

She knows that questions are inevitable, but jokes, "Maybe I could stay with you and Aunt Gail tonight?"

Taylor takes her shoulders and spins her, then gently pushes her towards the house. "Go on. I need my beauty sleep."

Phoebe giggles and offers the parting shot "Well, that's certainly true," as she heads to the house. She's surprised at who's waiting for her. "Mom? I thought Dad would conduct this interrogation."

Ana pats the spot beside her on the sofa and says, "No interrogation, sweetheart. Despite tonight's lapse in judgment, we still trust you. And I'm sure that, if Billy has captured your heart, he's worthy of it. I just have some advice for you."

Phoebe cautiously sits down as she says, "We already had the sex talk, Mom. I'm still recovering."

"It was no picnic for me, either. But your grandma didn't tell me a damn thing, and I was _not_ going to make that mistake with you. I actually didn't have sex until I was twenty-one."

"Eww. Mom! No specifics, remember? I can deal with this stuff if it's generic."

Ana laughs and says, "Sorry. But it's relevant to what I'm trying to say. The odds are against you and Billy staying together." Phoebe guesses that her sudden anger shows on her face, because her mom quickly adds, "Not trying to put you off; just pointing out the very real fact that people rarely stay with their first love."

"Okay. _Why_ are you pointing it out?"

"Because I want you to know that the odds don't mean a fucking thing." Phoebe has never heard such language from her mother before. So she's staring at her in open-mouthed shock when Ana continues, "Your father is my first love…my only love. It hasn't been easy. I suspect that no relationship is. But the good times have made it worthwhile. If it's working with Billy, don't let _anyone_ break you apart, okay?"

A little confused, Phoebe nevertheless comprehends that this is important information, so she says, "Okay. But, Mom, we haven't even actually been on a date, yet."

"Yeah, I guess that I'm just being careful, but I'm right. Sometimes it's subtle; a word or two about how he's not quite right for you. Others might actively try to break you apart with lies and machinations. It only matters what _you_ think of Billy; no one else, okay?"

"Jeez, Mom; okay. You're freaking me out a little."

Ana smiles and says, "I'm sorry, my darling, but I want to make sure you remember this."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that I'll remember everything about this evening."

Something about her tone has brought that knowing look to her mom's eyes and Ana asks, "Oh? Anything in particular?"

Why is it so hard to discuss this stuff? Old enough to do it should mean old enough to talk about it, right? Taking a deep breath of courage, Phoebe reveals, "We kissed."

Ana smiles and says, "I guessed, from that dreamy look you had on your face when you came in here." Suddenly serious, she asks, "You know, sweetie, that the age of consent is sixteen?"

"God, Mom; you've gone straight from first kiss to having sex? Have you planned my babies, yet? You heard Billy say that he can wait."

Breathing a soft laugh, Ana says, "Sorry, sweetheart, but you'll soon discover that these feelings are powerful enough to sweep aside all logic, so you need to think about this stuff. To that end, I've made an appointment for you with my ob/gyn, Pam Greene; just for a chat. I can be with you, or you can see her alone. After talking to her you can decide if you want to stay with Pam or find your own physician; either way, anything you say will remain between the two of you, unless you wish otherwise. She's really good and easy to talk to."

"You're okay with me having sex?"

"As I said, I'd prefer you wait a while. But, yes; it's just part of growing up." With a grin, Ana says, "Don't ask that question of your father, though. You might make his head explode."

Phoebe laughs and says, "Oh, that's why _you're_ here, instead of him."

Suddenly solemn, Ana reveals, "And that talk was difficult for him. Other than to a therapist, he's not spoken of the incident since it happened…not even to me. I think he still blames himself."

Swallowing at the enormity of it, Phoebe says, "Doesn't sound like his fault. That guy, Winter, was insane, right?"

"Yes. But your father takes his responsibilities very seriously, which means that any harm to his family feels like failure on his part. Plus…it's complicated, and not my secret to share. Dad did something when he was a teenager that he's not proud of, and that has had ongoing consequences in our lives."

"Consequences like that enemy he mentioned? Should I know what he looks like, so I can be prepared?"

"No need, sweetie. He's quite old now, so I doubt we'll hear from him again. Besides, our personal staff know him, and there's facial recognition software here and at both our offices. He's never getting close to you."

Thinking about how someone with a hunting rifle doesn't need to get close, Phoebe says, "I think I'm glad you didn't tell me all this stuff when I was younger."

Ana shrugs and says, "I'd prefer that we _never_ had to tell you. But I'm afraid you've inherited my recklessness."

Phoebe grins and says, "So, if I get into trouble, I can blame you?"

Ana laughs and says, "Except that you're ultimately responsible for your own actions, no matter what your parentage." Again serious, she adds, "Speaking of which, ask your father about his early childhood. He's ready to tell you, I think, and it will help you understand him a little better. A lot of what he does is to keep us from enduring such hardship."

"From before he was adopted?"

"Yes."

She'd always assumed, from the fact that no one talks about it, those years must have been pretty bad. "Okay, I will. Is that it? I'm kind of tired after everything that's happened."

Again smiling, Ana says, "Well, yes; dragging that ladder and mat all the way from the shed to the fence, while avoiding the cameras, must have been exhausting."

"Not funny, Mom." Her heart in her throat—not sure why this apology is the hardest—Phoebe is mortified to realize she's crying as she asks, "Can you forgive me?"

Enveloping Phoebe in her arms, Ana says, "Hey, sweetheart; nothing to forgive. You couldn't have felt like you had a choice without all the information. I was the same about security when I first met your father."

Silently drawing comfort from the embrace for a while, Phoebe then sits back and wipes her tears as she asks, "You broke out, too?"

"In a way. I wouldn't cooperate with the team, and I often fought your father's attempts to keep me safe…still do, occasionally, when he gets out of hand."

Phoebe laughs and feels only a little disloyal when she says, "He really is a control freak, isn't me?"

Ana also laughs and says, "Actually, he's relaxed nowadays; he used to be much worse. We had some fine arguments before you were born. You've mellowed him quite a bit."

"I have?"

"Oh, yes. He's often said that just knowing you're his daughter makes him believe that he must be doing something right, to have been so blessed."

So many images flick through Phoebe's mind in a few seconds; happy snapshots of time spent with her father. People…strangers, speak of him with anything from hushed awe to naked fear. But, to Phoebe, he's simply the guy who's always been there to hold her hand when she needed it. Only then does she realize that, tonight, Billy was that guy. It feels like grief when she muses out loud, "I'm growing up, aren't I? Daddy used to make me promise something every night…I can't remember when he stopped doing that."

Ana nods and says, "To never grow up. I guess he realized that you couldn't keep that promise, though I suspect he's still struggling to accept the truth. It doesn't mean he loves you less, Phoebe. He'd tilt the planet on its axis if you needed it."

"Well that sounds like fun."

With a proud smile, Ana says, "And we're back to reckless." Suddenly standing and helping Phoebe to her feet, she adds, "For now, bed time. You and Dad can tilt the planet tomorrow." Then kissing Phoebe's cheek, she concludes, "Goodnight, sweetie. I like your young man."

"Me, too. So, you're not disappointed in me?"

The earnestness of the question gets Ana's attention. She studies her daughter for an excruciating few seconds and then asks, "Is that why you're intimidated by me? You think that you could disappoint me?"

"Well, yeah; you set such an impossibly high standard that I don't feel like I can ever measure up."

Again enfolding her daughter in her arms, Ana desperately asserts, "Oh, darling, you could never disappoint me. You are absolutely perfect, even in your rebellion. Who else would think of fetching a rubber mat, so they could safely circumvent the electric fence?"

"Except that I wasn't smart enough to know that pressure on the wires would trip the alarm."

"Oh, I was wondering how they found out. I haven't yet had a chance to discuss it with Christian or Jay."

"You always call him 'Christian'?"

Ana ponders the matter for a moment and asks, "Solemn promise?" Only when Phoebe mimes locking her lips and crossing her heart, does she continue, "When I really want to get his attention, I call him Chrissy Boy."

Phoebe's explosion of laughter sounds impossibly loud in the quiet house, so she quickly reins it in and says, "See what I mean? I could never be that brave. I love you, Mom."

"And I love you, Phoebe. Now go to bed."

Phoebe kisses her cheek, stealing/bestowing another quick hug, and says, "Yes, ma'am."

"And don't start that! It's bad enough that Jay still won't use my first name."

Her heart aching with love for her mom, Phoebe says, over her shoulder, "Well I imagine he's just as scared of you as the rest of us are."

She knows it's a lie when Ana growls, "That's it; you're grounded for another month."

So Phoebe is laughing this time as she climbs the stairs to her room. She's not quite ready for bed when Teddy texts her, "You tried to escape from Fort Grey?"

She cannot now recall who came up with the nickname for their fortified home, but it stuck. Phoebe laughs and quickly taps out the reply, "Sore that I've finally done something my big bro hasn't?" She should hate him; he's good at everything, adored by everyone he meets and has set an academic achievement at Lakeside School that has been very hard to follow. But she loves him; always has and probably always will.

"Ha. Ha. If u mean FAIL, then u did it b4 me."

She immediately calls him and accuses, "Bullshit! No way you ever snuck out."

Teddy chuckles and says, "If you say so, sis."

He's the golden child; never did a thing wrong…or so she thought. But he also doesn't lie to her. "Well…when, how?"

"At the time there was a convenient tree limb overhanging one corner, but it got lopped off soon after I used it. You remember Sandy?"

His first girlfriend. "Yeah, of course. You broke out to see her?"

"I broke out to see _all_ of her."

Phoebe would be happy to pretend that her brother has never had, nor will have, sex. "That's disgusting. So, Dad doesn't know? I presume you just talked to him?"

"Yeah, and no, he doesn't know…or at least he's never said anything. Weird about my scar, isn't it? And fucking duplicitous of him to tell me I got it from an accident in a playground."

Only her brother would use "fucking" and "duplicitous" in the same breath. "Yeah. Makes me wonder what else they're keeping from us, though it also confirms that some things I _never_ want to know."

"Like why they have a soundproof bedroom?"

"For one thing, yeah, and thanks for that reminder."

Laughing again, at her outraged tone, he says, "Sorry, sis. So, you have a boyfriend?"

"Oh, very smooth segue. Yes, I have a boyfriend, and yes, he's named after an English poet, but that's hardly his fault."

"I guess not. He's a good guy?"

"The best, Teddy. I feel like I can tell him anything. We talk all the time. Actually, until he asked me out on a date, I didn't know he wanted anything _but_ conversation from me."

"He'd better fucking wait until you're at least sixteen before he makes a move on you."

"Will you relax? I told you he's a good guy." Deciding some payback is in order, Phoebe grins as she adds, "He's a good kisser, too. Maybe I'll be the one to put the moves on _him_."

"On that note, I'm out of here. First lecture is late tomorrow, but I still need _some_ sleep. Stay safe, okay?"

"You, too. I don't miss you; not even a little."

"Me either; that'd be weird. Night, Fi."

"Night, Teddy."

She's in her pajamas and under the covers, about to open the latest email from Billy, when there's a knock on the door, and she guesses, "Come in, Dad."

Sure enough, it's her father, and his eyes flick to the phone in her hand before he asks, "Billy, or Teddy?"

There's no criticism in his tone, so she replies, "Right now; Billy, but I talked to Teddy…oh, he contacted me. I didn't go against your wishes."

"It's all right, sweetheart. You're getting old enough to decide this stuff for yourself, and Teddy is certainly old enough to tell you if he didn't want to speak with you. I just wanted to let you know that I remembered Thanksgiving is next week, and you'll be grounded. So we'll make that day exempt. Because, if you miss out, my parents will ground _me_."

Phoebe giggles and says, "Well, we can't have that. Thanks, Dad." Hesitating only a moment—it's been a day for bravery—she then asks, "Can I…may I invite Billy to join us?"

She's certain, from the sudden tension in his body, that it's a step too far. But then he relaxes and says, "I guess so. That's what would happen if you weren't grounded. His parents don't make a big deal of it?"

Phoebe shrugs and says, "I get the impression that they don't make a big deal about anything much, except for his grades."

"Well, so long as it won't offend his parents, he's welcome to join us at Bellevue."

"Thanks, Dad." Apparently, she has yet more courage, and asks, "Are you sick? I mean, are you having heart problems?"

He hesitates, but then reveals, "I will have if I don't take it easy. My blood pressure was a little high last checkup. I'm fine, Peaches, I promise. Please don't worry about me. I intend to be around for a very long time." With a sudden grin, he says, "At least until your kids are teenagers and giving you a hard time."

She'd laugh, but her lack of forethought has caused so many people pain. "Did I apologize to you, yet? I'm losing track."

"Yes, you did. Something else to consider, in case you get that reckless again; if you ever evade Zoe, I'll have to also punish her."

Zoe has been with Phoebe since the first day of school; more a friend than a minder, though she is always professional. "I hadn't thought of that. Regardless, I would never do that to her, because I know she'd be frantic."

"Good girl." Leaning down to kiss her forehead, he then says, "Night, sweetie. It's been a while since I did this, hasn't it?"

Suddenly thinking of something that might make him feel better, Phoebe says, "If you ask for my promise, I'll give it, and I'll mean it, too."

Oh, she hasn't seen that smile all day. She'd endure a lot to see that look of pure happiness on her father's face. He manages to look almost serious when he initiates their ritual. "Promise me something, Peaches?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Promise me you'll never grow up?"

"I won't, Dad; I promise."

He again presses his lips to her forehead and his voice cracks a little as he says, "Good night, sweet child. Remember that your father loves you very much."

Even when he was away from home on business, these were always the last words he spoke to her every day, and it feels just as good now as it ever did. "I love you too, Daddy."

He stares at her for a moment, and it feels somehow final when he nods, as if to himself, then leaves; gently shutting the door on the way out. Releasing too many emotions in a long, trembling sigh, Phoebe opens Billy's email; the subject is "I have become infinite," and there's a link pasted below. Curious, she clicks on it and is looking at a picture of herself captured…she has no idea when, but she's smiling like she doesn't have a care in the world and her hair is blowing partly across her face. She looks…wild with happiness.

And then she remembers; the day Billy said that he had tickets to her favorite band and asked if she'd like to "accompany" (he'd actually used that word, which had impressed her no end) him, she'd asked why—still oblivious of the fact that her increasingly powerful feelings for him were returned—and he'd said, "Because I like your smile." It had been a field trip: applying mathematics to the real world. It had also been the day when Phoebe realized that her crush liked her back. So, yeah, she'd been pretty happy. He must have surreptitiously snapped the photo, or his phone would have been confiscated for the day. Across the picture are the words, "If a thing loves, it is infinite."

Is it possible to feel _too_ happy? It feels like an enormous pressure inside her chest, as if something is trying to bust out. Smiling, she calls Billy and accuses, "Stalker."

He laughs and says, "Oh, you got it? The words are from my namesake, of course. So, what do you think?"

She knows what he means. "You love me?"

"I think so. I mean, I've never felt like this before, so it's…yeah, I do. I love you."

"I think I love you, too. I go to sleep thinking of you and wake up thinking of you. It's actually embarrassing how much time I spend daydreaming about how your forehead gets lines in it when you're trying to do math."

He laughs again and says, "Yeah, I know what you mean; I literally dream about your smile."

"You dream about me? Just my smile?"

His voice sounds different…deeper, when he says, "No, not just your smile. Are you going to torture me because I said I'll wait?"

Phoebe giggles and says, "I hadn't even thought of that; sounds like fun. Hey, Mom has made an appointment with an ob/gyn, to discuss...well, sex stuff, I guess. Would you come with me?"

"Uh, okay; if you need me to. You know I've had sex, right?"

Why does that hurt so much? "Well, you've never actually said so, but I guessed from the way you talk about it. Was it Rochelle?"

"I'm not about to discuss the who and the when, Bee. I just wanted you to know, partly in the interests of full disclosure, but also so you'll know I have _some_ knowledge."

Objectively, Phoebe can see that it's a good thing he has experience, but it still hurts. Resolving to act worthy of her parents decision to treat her more like an adult, she says, "Thank you. The doctor will want to discuss contraception, stuff like that?"

"I guess so. My parents never did anything like that for me. It was my brother who explained the basics and bought me a pack of condoms when I asked him about it. He's at Stanford. Hopefully, you'll meet him at the end of the year."

"Oh, Dad says Thanksgiving is exempt from my punishment. Would you like to join us at my grandparents'? They've got a place by the lake in Bellevue. It's a big deal; you'd meet my aunts, uncles and cousins…oh, and my grandparents, of course."

"Whoa; slow down. Did you ask your Dad?"

"Of course I did. I'm not actually in the habit of disobeying my parents."

She can practically hear his smile when he tenderly accuses, "Daddy's girl."

It's her favorite game with Billy…well, until she kissed him. "Bookworm."

"Nerd."

"Dork."

"Klutz." When Phoebe suddenly giggles, he asks, "What? You are kind of a klutz."

"No, not that. I was just thinking that about ten minutes ago I promised Dad that I'd never grow up, and now I'm playing this very childish game with you."

"Well, it's a fun game. And I win."

Damn, he's right. "This time."

"You sound tired. I'm gonna try and get away real early, so we can spend the whole day together. Do you think that would be okay with your parents?"

"Uh, I think so. Want me to ask them now?"

"No. The morning will be soon enough. I have chores first thing, anyway." He hesitates only a breath before adding, "I love you, Phoebe Grace."

She's blushing yet again when she finds the courage to reply, "I love you, too. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah; tomorrow. Oh, Bee, why are their photos of your mom like _everywhere_ in your house?"

She giggles at the sudden subject change and says, "Dad, obviously. Every time we go on vacation he adds another to the walls. His office in town is even worse. He insists that he can't be without her for a second." When he's quiet, she asks, "You don't like it?"

"No, I mean, yeah; it's okay…kind of weird seeing an older version of you everywhere I looked. But it's more…I'm wondering if I can manage that here without my parents freaking out."

Smiling, Phoebe teases, "Looks like we're back to 'stalker'."

He laughs and says, "Yeah. Plus, you'd never put a foot inside my room if my wallpaper is smiling photos of you."

"No, I wouldn't." Suddenly nervous of the idea, she asks, "I'd be allowed in your room?"

"I doubt they'd notice if I walked you through the house. But, no, we're not doing that for a while. I'm…I don't know if I could remain a gentleman if you were here with me."

Thrilled at this confirmation of how much he wants her, Phoebe reassures him, "Except that you love me."

She actually hears him sigh and he says, "Yeah. I'm not going to fuck this up. Go to sleep, Bee."

"I don't want to. If I go to sleep, this day has ended. And it's been the best day of my life."

"Tomorrow will be better, I promise."

* * *

Where credit's due: "If a thing loves, it is infinite." – William Blake…the 18th century poet, not the fictional character ;-)

Author's note: Want another day of this one? Or shall I move on to the next plot idea?

I could find no confirmation online that head trauma can "break" hair follicles, so that the hair then appears white. But I'm sure I remember a classmate in high school who had a lock of white hair supposedly caused by injury. Now I'm wondering if they lied…or my memory is playing tricks on me; it does that. Anyone know about this one? It's just to satisfy my curiosity.

Author's shameless plug: Posted part one of an original fic, "Stella Lux", on Fiction Press. If you read it, feedback would be appreciated, probably even acted upon; I want to get this right. Thank you, for giving me the courage to attempt it.


	2. Chapter 2

Sweet Innocence

Chapter Two

_It's a perfect morning for a run; blue sky, for a change, and just enough breeze to dry the sweat on his skin as his steady pace consumes the miles. Teddy is asleep in the stroller by the time they stop, but he stirs at the sudden lack of motion, and excitedly kicks his legs when he realizes where they are, sleepily demanding, "Swing, Daddy, swing."_

_Christian laughs and says, "Yes, buddy; swing. But, right now, you need to keep still so I can—" _

_Fuck, something bit him…something big. Christian automatically reaches a hand to the site of the sting, confused as to why it should feel moist, even as he hears the crack. His brain is trying to tell him that something is very wrong—that the sound is familiar and a harbinger of danger—when Ryan smacks into him with all the force of a linebacker at full tilt, taking them both to the ground behind the climbing wall as something whistles past them and another crack shatters the morning stillness. Only then does Christian's mind fill in the blanks; he's been shot. Perhaps predictably, his first reaction to this news is sudden fury, from deep within. But then he notices that Teddy isn't moving; the active toddler is never completely motionless, not even when he sleeps. _

_Cold terror grips his heart and floods his veins with ice. Suddenly, not even the now searing pain from the bullet wound, nor the muscular man holding him down while practically yelling into a radio, is enough to keep him from going to his son. He's to his knees when Ryan begs, "Sir, please, you need to stay down!"_

_"Teddy!" He's knows that agonized scream came from him—he felt it leave his mouth—but it sounded barely human._

_"I've got him. Just stay down!"_

_They've known each other a long time, so they have trust. It's the only way Christian is able to remain behind, clutching the seeping wound in his abdomen, as Ryan darts out, keeping low, and drags the stroller over to them. The pain or shock is now severe enough to hamper Christian's movements, despite what must be an overload of adrenalin pumping through his body, so Ryan is first to see the blood trickling down Teddy's inert face and, the only time ever while on duty, exclaims, "Fuck!" A desolate howl of anguish is working its way up Christian's throat when it's halted by a relieved "He's breathing; shallow, but he's alive," and he passes out, knowing that his son survived the attack, but unsure whether he'll ever see him again._

"Christian! Christian, baby, please wake up."

It's Ana's face before him, but older than he'd expect, given where he just was. The sheets are drenched in his sweat, and his body is still fighting the reality he faced in the nightmare; heart pounding and chest heaving as he gasps, "I'm okay, baby. I'm all right."

She smiles her relief and snuggles against him, despite his clammy skin, until they're both breathing normally, and then she asks, "Teddy?"

He's not had a nightmare in many years, so even a moron could have worked out the reason for this one, given the evening's events, and his wife is no moron. "Yeah."

"Want to call Flynn?" The good doctor is retired now, with the exception of one patient for whom he always has time; professionally and socially.

Holding her a little tighter—a phone call would mean she'd have to leave his arms—Christian says, "No. I really am okay." His heart again beating faster in opposition of what he's about to propose, he hesitates a moment before adding, "And I want to tell you what happened."

She already knows, of course; he's really telling her for _him_. Ryan was able to give her the details of the attack, and the doctors explained Christian's condition after they tried, unsuccessfully, to save his right kidney. She'd been holding his hand when the anesthetic had worn off, because Ana knew that only his pregnant wife had a hope in hell of keeping Christian from ripping out his IV tube and staggering…probably crawling, to his son's still unconscious form. They'd managed to reunite the young family later that day, and his father's face was the first thing Teddy saw when he eventually woke from the coma, smiled, and asked, "Swing, Daddy?"

Ana's own memories of the event mean that she needs the comfort of her palm over his too-fast heart before she consents, "Okay."

So Christian quietly reveals how he'd at first thought the bullet was a wasp, and how Ryan not only saved his boss from the second bullet, but put himself in the line of fire to retrieve their son; how the former bodyguard (now head of security at Grey Publishing) tended both of his charges until the paramedics arrived, and rode with Christian and Teddy in the ambulance, his clothing still covered in their blood. That attack is the reason every Grey now has a personal minder; with family outings requiring a convoy of vehicles. Christian is _never_ going to face a day like that again.

However, every concession to safety demands the hefty price of one more slice of freedom. Phoebe has never been to a public playground; having to be content with the admittedly spectacular one in their yard. And she has endured, her entire life, stringent security measures that can only have felt like an infringement of her basic rights…at least, when she became old enough to realize that not every child lives like that. Christian finishes his recounting of that dreadful day and attempts a laugh before commenting, "It's a wonder she took this long to make a bid for freedom, isn't it?"

Kissing the pulse point at his neck, Ana says, "Yes, she's a good kid. Thank you, for telling me, Christian. Flynn will be proud."

He manages a more convincing laugh and says, "Flynn won't give a fuck. He's sitting back, doting on grandchildren and raking in money from his books."

"He'll still be proud, as am I. You're amazing."

A word of praise from Ana is worth ten from anyone else, even their good friend John Flynn. But Christian feels like a phony and pouts, "For finally being able to talk about it after so long?"

Lifting herself up on one elbow, Ana gently says, "Because you not only survived, but didn't let it ruin us. I would have gone to pieces if you hadn't kept me sane while Teddy was in that coma. You're strong, Christian; the strongest person I've ever met. And you're a wonderful father. Your love for our children is more powerful than even an assassin's bullet. And your incredible love for Phoebe is the reason we're finally having this conversation after sixteen years."

"I guess so." Only Phoebe's need could have forced him to relive the moment when he thought Teddy was dead because of him. Winter's suicide note had confirmed that the child was collateral damage…"collateral"; such a vulgar term to apply to a human being. "You kept me sane, too, baby. If you'd ever looked at me like it was my—"

She's the only person ever brave enough to put her elegant fingers on his lips when he's in danger of talking shit. Ana actually sounds angry when she insists, "None of that was your fault. Do you hear me?"

He'd hashed this out with Flynn, once he recovered from his physical injuries, until the guilt eventually eased. But it occasionally sneaks up and grabs him. "It was my no tolerance policy that led to Winter targeting me, and my affair with Elena that made Linc hate me."

Still speaking as if she's an angry school marm and he's the dunce of the class, Ana says, "That policy has saved countless people from ruining their lives, and those of their families. Tell me how we know this."

Christian smiles at her bossiness—she really is adorable when she's like this—and jokes, "Because, at the tenth birthday of GEH, and again on the twentieth, I was subjected to sob stories from several of my employees."

Ana rolls her eyes (he'd never quite cured her of that trait and, in time, had come to cherish the gesture…besides, he _is_ occasionally ridiculous) and says, "I'm sure you didn't miss the part where they revealed that your compassion saved them from disaster. And Linc is not your fault; you didn't have an affair with Elena, she had one with you, remember?"

Flynn has said the same thing; that a much more experienced Elena had played on Christian's innocence to forge him into someone who was wholly dependent on her, until he found the strength to break free...even then, he hadn't really been true to himself, not until he'd found himself drowning in those beautiful blue eyes. "I love you, Anastasia."

He sees her breath catch at this now seldom used term of address, and a spark of desire flare in her eyes, before she chides, "Don't 'Anastasia' me when we're having an argument."

His hands already roaming over her naked curves, Christian asks, "Is that what we're doing? What point are you arguing?"

God, he loves that just his touch can even now confuse her, so that the woman who makes a living from words literally has trouble forming sentences. "Uh, that you…you're not to blame for Teddy's scar."

"Then you've argued your case very well, because I agree with you."

Her eyes are closed now, as his fingertips trace a random pattern over her hip, "Mmm…that's nice. You do?"

"Yes. See, I was forgetting one very important fact." When she opens her eyes enough to look at him for the answer, he says, "You love me."

It's been quite a while, too long, since he saw her happy tears. He holds her until she composes herself enough to lovingly accuse, "Bastard."

He grins and asks, "You going to fuck me now?"

Ana considers for a moment, and then says, "Why don't we let anticipation build until tomorrow—I guess, technically; tonight—when we'll have the whole place to ourselves?"

He smiles at the thought. They've not actually played out a scene in months, though still manage some fairly energetic sex three or four times a week. Strangely, he hadn't minded that their sex life took a hit when the kids were little; his love for them just as fulfilling, though obviously in a very different way, from his love for their mother. And his immature fear that she'd want him less after becoming a parent was proven erroneous. Apparently, Christian being a doting father is another of Ana's turn-ons…along with half of Seattle, though he'd never found any of those flirtatious women (or men) tempting enough to stray.

And how many times had they nearly been caught by an inquisitive toddler; Ana with her skirt hitched up over her hips, and him furiously fucking her against the nearest flat surface? It's a wonder they got away with it…though he did get slapped on his bare ass by a sleepy Teddy one afternoon; their boy having woken from his nap thirsty enough to go looking for them. Christian had shielded Ana's cringing body from view and distracted the child with the rare treat of a soda if he could fetch it himself. He'd been up for the challenge and they'd finished their tryst without further interruption. It had almost been worth cleaning soda from every surface in the kitchen, including their son. Even his OCD proved useful; the kids never found any of the sex toys currently locked away in Christian's closet, because he always remembered to put them away. All these delicious memories set his thoughts in only one direction, and he says, "I've got a better idea; Escala."

Ana's smile is radiant, and she says, "Husband, you're a genius."

She settles back against his side, but not quite quick enough to hide that beloved Mona Lisa smile. "Baby, is this one of those times when you let me voice _your_ idea?" When she says nothing, he knows he's right, and soon guesses, "Oh, so I won't stress about Phoebe on her first date?"

"No comment."

Tilting her face to his with a firm, gentle hand on her chin, Christian kisses her and says, "It's okay, babe; that's a very good idea…of mine. If I were brave enough to examine my thoughts on the matter, I'm pretty sure that part of my brain would be telling me to follow them to the concert. But an evening with you might actually be enough to distract me. Besides, I trust Zoe and Luke to keep her safe."

"_Them_ safe, darling; Billy's safety is now a factor in our daughter's happiness."

Fuck, she's right…again. "_Them_ safe. Think we need to assign him a permanent CPO?"

"I'm not sure we can do that without first speaking to his parents. He seems quite mature, but he _is_ a minor."

He's not genuinely upset, but moans, "Are you going to let me have _any_ ideas?"

That's a lecherous smile—how lovely—and Ana says, "I'm content to let you have _all_ the ideas when we get to Escala."

The playroom at their first home is the one place Ana never contests his mastery. It's been enough. They've long since dispensed with Discipline, except to enhance sex. It was no longer necessary once Ana became the person she'd always wanted to be; strong, confident, capable and considerate of everyone, including herself. Christian smiles, even as his mind feverishly runs through tantalizing scenarios, and says, "I can do that." Quickly kissing her, before his cock takes control, he adds, "For now, I'm gonna wash this sweat off and get some work done now that I'm awake."

Ana groans and rolls out of his embrace as she says, "It's Saturday and it's not yet dawn. You're on your own, Grey."

She's already turned away from him, intent on getting back to sleep while she can. So he kisses her shoulder before pulling the covers over her and jokes, "My wife; the goof-off."

"My husband; the insomniac."

It's a fact. Though he sleeps better now than he ever did before Ana rescued him from a self-imposed hell, Christian still barely manages five hours sleep a night. It's only now taking a toll; this frantic pace raising his blood pressure enough to cause slightly elevated protein levels in his urine. With only one kidney, he can't afford to burn out.

Ana squeaks a protest when he suddenly yanks the covers off her. Whatever she was about to say freezes on her lips when she whirls to look at him. Her breath quickening in response to what she sees there, she asks, "_Not_ getting some work done?"

Slowly closing on her as if she's his prey, Christian holds her hypnotized by his gaze as he says, "No. You're going to wear me out, so we can sleep in on Saturday morning, like regular people." She's literally squirming in anticipation. "God, you're beautiful."

Ana blushes—it's just as endearing as it ever was—and says, "With my surgery scars, ever-widening hips and saggy breasts?"

He's often marveled at the fact that his desire for her remains constant, despite the fact that Ana's appearance has changed slightly over the years. She's still hot, though, by anyone's standards; swimming and yoga have made her a fit and supple forty year old. But he suspects that it's more to do with the fact that his love for her has only grown since she fell at his feet and rocked his world. Or maybe it's that he falls in love with her every time he sees her; just as he did that first time? For now, he hopes that she can tell how sincere he is when he huskily vows, "Abso-fucking-lutely."

* * *

Billy has no trouble getting permission to visit a "friend", once he's done his chores and homework. So long as he fulfills all his perceived obligations, he has quite a bit of freedom. He's only a little surprised when the gates open as he approaches Phoebe's house…estate. The American Jedi meets him and gestures where to park. As Billy gets out, expecting more mind games, he's instead greeted with, "Good morning, Mr. Blake. I'm Jason Taylor, head of security here at the house."

Warily shaking the man's hand, wondering if he's being set up, he says, "Billy. Good to officially meet you, sir."

Taylor nods and releases him, saying, "A couple of things, before you go in; you will _never_ be allowed to just drop by. I will require notice from either you or Miss Grey, so that I can keep you both safe. And, though your car appears well maintained, you won't need it while you're with Miss Grey; one of our security team will drive you. Again, I'll need some notice of your intentions, so that I can make sure the location is secure."

When he says nothing else, Billy cheekily asks, "That's it? No threats about how you'll break my legs if I hurt Phoebe?"

Taylor smiles and says, "You're the first boy to catch her eye, so you must be something special. Besides, Miss Grey is entirely capable of breaking your legs without my help."

"So I've heard. Has she really been doing Taekwondo since she was five?"

"Yes, sir; and informally learning martial arts from her father even longer than that. Any other questions?"

"Uh, you said '_both_'; you'll be protecting me, too?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well…why? I'm not a billionaire's kid."

"No, but one does care about you, and I don't like to see Miss Grey upset. Anything else, sir?"

"I guess not…oh, are you calling her 'Miss Grey' for my benefit?"

Finally, a smile, and the Jedi says, "I figured you must be smart. Yes. I understand that things have changed since I was seventeen, but you _will_ treat Phoebe with respect."

It's not exactly a question, but Billy senses that the man might like an answer. "Yes, sir; I will, but not because of you. I treat Phoebe with respect because she deserves it."

Taylor's smile broadens and he says, "Welcome to the madhouse, son. Just go in; they're expecting you."

"Thank you, sir."

The front door opens as he approaches, to reveal Phoebe; looking lovely in jeans and a powder-blue sweater. He dares to kiss her cheek, making her blush, so he's grinning as he walks past her, but loses it on seeing Mr. Grey. As if reading his thoughts, the guy grins and says, "Relax, Billy. This is not a repeat of last night; just a few ground rules…one, really. If you're both in Phoebe's room, the door will remain open."

It's clearly not open for debate, but it's better than he'd hoped for, given her age, so he readily agrees. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Grey is obviously reluctant to go—darting a nervous glance at Phoebe—but says, "All right; I'll see you both at lunch, then."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Yes; thank you, sir."

And they're alone, in a vast room. They've been staring at each other for several seconds when Phoebe laughs and asks, "Why am I nervous?"

Dropping his backpack by the door, Billy takes her hand and leads her to the dining table. He holds the chair out for her, fumbling the gesture only a little, given that he's never done it before. When they're sitting next to each other, like in class, he asks, "Better?"

Phoebe giggles and says, "Much, thank you." When she sways towards him, Billy instinctively puts an arm around her shoulders, and she adds, "I missed you."

Oh, wow; love as a physical force takes hold of his heart, literally making his chest ache. He's unsurprised to note that his hand is trembling when he tilts her chin up so that he can kiss her. His breath is likewise unsteady when he sighs and says, "Yeah, me too…I mean, I missed you. I think my dad was suspicious when I got up before the sun to do all my chores."

"He doesn't know about me?"

"No. He's…Dad isn't understanding like your father. He uses expressions like 'tow the line' and 'fly straight' a lot. He's kind of controlling." _And we have a very real candidate for Understatement of the Year, folks._

Phoebe laughs and says, "You don't know controlling."

She'll probably have to meet his parents some time. "Think you're the only teenager with problems?"

She studies his expression for a moment and then says, "You're right. I'm sorry. I know that I'm lucky." As if deliberately dispelling the solemn mood, she smiles brightly and asks, "What's in your bag?"

Billy manages to keep a straight face when he replies, "Condoms." Laughing at her shocked expression, he quickly adds, "Mainly clothes, for tonight. Which reminds me; were you dressed like that last night for me, or for yourself?"

"Uh, both, I guess...it made me feel good to dress up, knowing that you'd see it. You didn't like it?"

"Oh, I liked it; so much that I'm certain your father didn't. But you don't need to dress like that for me, and it's not suitable for a concert, Bee. Jeans and t-shirt are best…but don't wear a band tee, okay? I know it's your first concert, but I presume you don't want to advertise the fact. And comfy shoes, not heels. Just because we have seats doesn't mean we'll be doing much sitting. Everyone stands up at these things."

Apparently, they're both embarrassed by him telling her what to do; he can feel heat rising up his neck and Phoebe looks uncomfortable. But she merely considers his words for a second before asking, "Anything else?"

"Uh, take a bottle of water, and don't carry a handbag. If you do, don't carry anything valuable in it, just in case. Might wanna tie your hair back, too. We won't be in the pit, but just getting to the concession stand can be an adventure." When she makes no reply, he asks, "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm…I feel like an idiot. Outside school, you know so much more about everything than I do."

"But you'll learn, Bee; innocence isn't an affliction. And I bet there's heaps of stuff you know that I don't…self-defense, for one thing."

"You've never done it?"

"No." How to explain why he never wanted to be able to fight back? Fuck it; she doesn't need to know that shit. "No, I learned badminton instead; with a racquet, I'm deadly."

Phoebe's smile is wide when she offers, "How about I show you a few moves?"

"Uh, okay…you're not going to break me?"

Suddenly standing, with one of his hands in hers, Phoebe says, "We'll see."

* * *

Phoebe is finally relaxed as she leads Billy downstairs to the oh-so-familiar gymnasium. It's the only large room that doesn't feature pictures of her mother, and she explains, "Dad says he can't train effectively while looking at Mom's face, so we get landscapes and inspirational quotes instead."

Billy laughs and says, "Better. Oh, not that I mind looking at…never mind."

His neck is blushing again. God, she wants to kiss him every second. Instead, she instructs, "No shoes or socks on the mats."

Only then does she realize; she's never seen his feet. How to look without seeming like a perv? Apparently, it's not a concern, because Billy does as he's told, and is ogling her now bare feet as he says, "Cute toes."

"You should see the rest of me." Holy hell! Where did those words, and that voice, come from? She's not a slut; she knows that. Before she met Billy, Phoebe had actually wondered if she was gay, except that she felt no attraction for any of her girlfriends either. He's still staring at her, apparently in shock. Silently cursing the sudden redness burning her face, she begs, "Please don't look at me like that."

Flicking his eyes away from her, Billy audibly swallows and says, "Sorry. But…fuck, Bee; you can't say stuff like that, or I won't be able to wait another day, let alone until August."

He's right. With a groan, she says, "I know. I'm sorry. I'm…I've never had these feelings before. I'm not sure what to do with them."

Apparently having already forgiven her, Billy meets her gaze, with a grin, and says, "Well, I find wanking helps enormously."

For a moment, there is literally no thought in her head. And then she forms something like an emotion; shock. "I can't believe you just said that!" He's amused; the fucker.

"What, you don't find it helpful?"

Oh, yes, he's definitely laughing at her. Struggling to maintain a calm exterior, Phoebe lies, "I never thought about it."

"Liar." She's still trying to think of a comeback when he smiles and says, "Come on; show me these moves, and try not to be too sexy doing it, okay?"

He's back, her friend; the one who teases her, but never too much. "I can do that. Thank you."

With limited time, Phoebe sticks to just self-defense; breaking holds and blocking. Having worked out where the boundaries are, they're once again at ease with each other as Billy fucks up again and again, until her instructions finally sink in and he's able to fairly effectively break out of a few holds. She's got him in a relatively loose headlock when the intercom blares, in her dad's voice, "Phoebe; lunch!"

And she's on her back; Billy having flipped her over his head while she was distracted. He drops to his knees beside her, saying, "Fuck, are you okay? I didn't think you'd let me do that."

She knew how to fall without hurting herself by the time she started school, so Phoebe lithely rises to her feet and says, "I'm fine. Dad's always saying that I can't let anything distract me when I'm training. But his voice is usually the one telling me what to do when I'm in here, so I…well, I got distracted."

Visibly relieved, Billy says, "Phew; thought I'd hurt you, in which case I presumably wouldn't leave here alive. That was fun, thanks."

"Yeah, it was."

She leads him to the bathroom, so they can freshen up; confident that he'll follow. They haven't got very far when he asks, "Phoebe, how did your dad know we were in here?"

She giggles at the fear in his voice and says, "He doesn't…I hope. There're no cameras inside the house. The intercom goes to every floor. If he hasn't heard from me in five minutes, he'll call me. It's a big place. You'll get used to it."

He grins and says, "Might take some time."

Phoebe flashes him a grin over her shoulder and says, "I hope so."

* * *

After a simple but delicious meal of homemade tomato soup and toasties, Billy and Phoebe are again alone, and she asks, "You okay? You seemed a little quiet during lunch."

Again the question of how much to tell her? "It's your family. They're…I can't recall ever having a meal like that; with everyone being so polite to each other. And your mom cooks? I don't think Mom has ever cooked. And your dad seemed genuinely interested in my future…I mean, like…as if he cared what I think, you know?"

She's looking at him like he's suddenly become alien to her. "Billy, how bad _are_ your parents? You never talk about them."

"Because, when I'm with you, I'd rather not think about anything dark."

Her voice small, Phoebe still somehow radiates strength when she says, "That's a little unfair. You're learning all the bad things about my life."

"I'll think about it, okay? But not today; only good things today."

Offering the gift of her smile, Phoebe says, "I can live with that. Oh, but you might wanna brace yourself. If that was too much for you, Thanksgiving is going to blow your mind."

Glad of the reprieve, Billy feigns horror and exclaims, "Oh, God. They're all like that?"

Phoebe laughs and links her arm through his to lead him into the yard as she says, "Uh, huh. My grandparents are going to go nuts for you."

He grins and says, "Good thing I have a protector, then."

Billy knows that he would do anything to keep Phoebe from harm. And he suddenly understands that she feels the same way about him, when she very seriously replies, "Yes, it is."

Outside, they're greeted by an aging black Labrador, the entire back half of its body wagging enthusiastically as it shuffles towards Phoebe, who kneels down to meet him as the dog flops to the ground and rolls onto his back. She laughs and explains, "This is Bozo. He's not exactly a guard dog, as you can see. He was Teddy's dog; he's mine now."

Billy drops to one knee and cautiously pets the animal. Bozo sniffs him and rolls over even more. He absentmindedly obliges by scratching the dog's chest as he says, "I've never had a pet."

Phoebe is quiet for a while after this revelation, and then says, "I have a terrapin, too; in my room."

She sounds nervous, so he says, "I'm not going to try anything, Bee. I said that I can wait, and I meant it."

She grins and says, "Maybe I'm worried what _I'll_ do?" More seriously, and with a delightful hint of embarrassment to her cheeks, she says, "No, it's…my room is _me_, you know?"

"Oh. Then you're probably right not to show me. If your room reminds me of you, I may never want to leave, and I doubt even _your_ parents are that understanding."

It works. She giggles and says, "Okay. But the yard, first. And I want you to meet Victor; he's adorable."

"Another dog?"

She laughs again and says, "He's sometimes a bit of an animal, but no. He's Uncle Jay's adopted son."

And that's how he finds out the Jedi lives in a separate house on the estate, with his family. Expecting a young child, Billy is shocked to find that Victor is almost Phoebe's age; a good-looking fucker, too. And the kid is practically drooling over her, though she seems oblivious of it. Billy didn't feel this kind of jealousy about Rochelle…but then he hadn't really been in love with her; he knows that now. They parted amicably, when it became obvious that sex was all they had. They remain friendly enough to nod a greeting when they encounter each other, but he can't honestly say that he really misses her.

The woman Phoebe calls "Aunt Gail" is lovely, making him wonder if the Jedi has a soft side, to have attracted such an angelic partner. Thankfully, the meet and greet doesn't last too long. Unfortunately, Phoebe again reads his mind and waits until they're heading back to the house to ask, "You don't like Vic?"

"It's not that; they all seem quite nice. But…do you honestly not realize he has a huge crush on you?"

"Victor? I don't think so. He's just really sweet. We've grown up together. They found him in a crack house when he was five years old. His mother is dead and his father still in prison, and gave up his parental rights. I think Nan was hoping that he'd end up my stepbrother—well, he practically is—because of Dad's background, but—"

"Your Dad's adopted?"

"You really _haven't_ researched my family, have you?"

"Seemed too stalkerish…though I'm kind of wishing I had now."

"Well, you have my permission, if that's what you're waiting for. Just…ignore ninety percent of what you read about us, okay? They make shit up. I stopped reading anything with 'Grey' in the title years ago."

Taking her hand in his, Billy says, "You'll tell me everything I need to know."

He gets one of her best smiles as a reward, and she says, "Anyway, Vic is now a Taylor, and I don't think he can have a crush on me; he's only thirteen and more like my brother than my neighbor."

She's clearly not ready to face that truth, and it really doesn't matter, anyway. He has no reason not to trust Phoebe, and she can certainly make the kid back off if he tries anything. Time for a change of subject. "So, what's next?"

She darts a glance his way and says, "Tour of the inside, finishing at our heated indoor pool. Did you bring your trunks?"

"Uh, yeah…about that; will your parents be with us?"

"I don't think so. Mom does laps, but usually first thing. Why?" He knows she's a virgin, but she can't be _that_ innocent; not even if her internet access is limited. If he's dressed for swimming, she will be, too. No way he can see that and not get a boner. When he only raises one eyebrow, she blushes and says, "Oh. Hadn't thought of that." She's quite for a moment, then continues, "It'll be okay. I mean, I know you have one, right? And we're going to have sex eventually, so I should probably get used to it."

She's trying to be mature about it, so he resists smiling at how adorable she is right now, instead saying, "I think that's best."

She levels a glare sideways at him and says, "You're laughing at me."

"Only a little. I love you, Bee."

That's enough that she stops and rewards him with a kiss. He should say that more often. Eventually ending it, her eyes flick down as she laughs and asks, "Again?"

He really is intent on waiting until she's legally, physically and emotionally ready to have sex, but every second in her presence tests his resolve. "I suspect that's going to happen quite a bit, I'm afraid."

She blushes again and lowers her eyelids—not helping at all—and says, "I'm starting to like it…like that you want me so much."

"Good, because you're sexy as hell." Too bashful to look him in the eye, Phoebe silently takes his hand and leads him towards the house. "Okay, Bee?"

"Yeah. Just those confusing feelings again."

"Can I do anything?"

"Confusing doesn't necessarily mean bad. I'm okay, Billy; just alternating between wanting to have sex with you this second and being absolutely terrified of the idea."

He didn't have this issue with Rochelle; she wasn't a virgin when they hooked up. "Uh, seems appropriate, given your age. I think it's good we're able to talk about it. I bet your mom will discuss this stuff, too; she seems pretty cool."

"Maybe. Thanks."

Phoebe is increasingly anxious as she shows him the huge house, until they're at a door that can only be to her bedroom. A sticker declaring "Boy Bands Must Die" catches his eye. An ornate plaque featuring her name, including a cheesy description that describes her as "bright and shining" likewise makes him smile. She also "hearts" a lot of things, including candy, but he doesn't have time to find out all of them, because Phoebe suddenly flings the door open and blithely says "Mi casa es tu casa," but he can tell she's still nervous.

Not wanting to prolong her suffering, he bows and steps inside. He looks around for a while, wondering if it's always this neat, or she tidied just for him. Then he remembers Mr. Grey being fairly obsessive about setting the table for an informal lunch and guesses that Phoebe is just as particular. Near as he can tell, the color scheme is purple and gray, from the lighter shades to almost black. Not exactly what he'd choose for himself, but it doesn't make him want to puke. He can practically feel her stare. "It's a little more…girly than I expected."

She lightly punches his arm and protests, "I last decorated when I was twelve."

He laughs and wraps her in his embrace as she says, "Then it's entirely appropriate. Also, it's lovely, just like you."

Weird; this time, when they kiss, his cock doesn't stir. Maybe, with someone you love, rather than just lust, there are different types of kisses? With this revelation, things get easier. He can be with Phoebe and _not_ want to have sex with her. Not always, of course; seeing her in a bikini for the first time tests him, as does watching her carve through the water as if she were born to it. But they eventually slip into the teasing manner they share at school, and he genuinely has a good time.

Soon enough, it's time for dinner, again cooked by Mrs. Grey—he's able to truthfully compliment her efforts—and it's as if he's already part of the family. He's wondering why their graciousness should feel painful, until he realizes that he's comparing it with what this meal would be like if he'd stayed at home. With a supreme force of will, he snaps out of it and enjoys himself.

* * *

God, how his heart hurts. Christian has said goodbye to Phoebe so many times…too many. Yet his heart knows that this time is different; she leaves him this evening as an adult…oh, not quite officially, but her first date means she's no longer a child. Ana is here, of course, keeping him from falling apart…or maybe he's doing that for her, because his darling wife surreptitiously wipes her eyes as she releases their daughter and says, "Have fun, okay?"

Phoebe also seems to sense that tonight is different; her eyes not quite filling with tears. Christian steps forward and meets her in a loving embrace. Somehow finding the strength to let go, he kisses her forehead and whispers, "Run along, and shine the world."

She smiles at this reminder of their song and teases, "Don't wait up."

He wags his finger at her, but can't help a smile—they both know he's proud of her wit—and then extends his right hand to Blake. As the young man warily accepts, which shows good sense, Christian this time applies a civil pressure and says, "Thank you."

That's shocked him. "Sir?"

Gesturing to Phoebe's much more appropriate choice of long t-shirt, light jacket, jeans and Converse shoes, he says, "I take it that was your doing?"

"Dad!"

Trying not to smile, he says, "What? I'm complimenting your boyfriend on his fashion sense."

Phoebe rolls her eyes and slips her arm through Billy's as she says, "Let's go."

Billy appears to be in a kind of shock, as if he can't quite believe that he's really going to the concert with Phoebe. Good. When they're gone, Christian comments to Ana, "Do you think there's a store called 'Skulls Are Us' where they buy this stuff?" Phoebe's light gray tee had sported a large, speckled black skull, while Blake's was an earphone-wearing skull; the entire thing apparently on fire…sure as hell wasn't the dinner suit he'd worn to his first date with Ana.

She laughs and says, "I don't know. But I think they're well-matched. Phoebe's found a boy who won't mind that her favorite color is black."

"Yeah, I guess so." Then taking his keys out of his pocket, he finds the neglected playroom key and blows imaginary dust off it before asking, "You ready, baby?"

Ana's smile is the one he'd do anything to see again, and she says, "Yes, Sir."

* * *

Sunday morning, after a glorious night. Billy is eating his cereal and periodically smiling at moments from the concert; the surprise of seeing the limo parked in the driveway, with non-alcoholic champagne and heart-shaped chocolates inside. They'd laughed and joked practically all the way there, where they were handed their tickets only to discover that they included backstage passes—how the hell had Grey managed that on short notice? Phoebe had been stunned into silence on meeting her favorite band…must remember to tease her about that. And the music had, quite literally, rocked. The entire audience were on their feet for most of the show. At one point Phoebe had leaned close to thank him for making her wear flats. As if he could _make_ her do anything.

"Billy!"

Early morning bellowing is a bad sign. Might as well get whatever it is over with. "Yeah, Dad; in here."

His father appears, cellphone in hand, and practically slams it on the table as he asks, "What the fuck is this?"

It doesn't take long to read the headline: "Romance at a rock concert; is the youngest Grey in love?" The picture is of Phoebe kissing him during her favorite song. She'd been too happy not to express it. It's a bad photo; must have been taken with a phone. But it's clearly Phoebe. The guy could be anyone, though; a quick glance over the body of the article confirms that he remains a "mystery youth". Maybe he can bluff his way out. "I dunno, Dad. You tell me."

"Don't you _dare_ lie to me, boy. Judith was there!"

His tattling cousin. He'd seen her, but thought he'd managed to avoid detection. Clearly, that wasn't the case. "She's in my math class. When I heard that her favorite band was coming to town, I thought I'd take her." He doesn't even want to say her name in this house.

"She's barely fifteen, for God's sake! Did you fuck her?"

Red rage flows through his veins; such fury that it takes a second to realize it's for Phoebe, not himself, and he's on his feet without even remembering standing. Something in his expression has made his dad look afraid. With trembling hands, Billy takes out his phone and dials one of the numbers he was given yesterday, to say, "Sir, my father is here and would like to know if your daughter is the type of girl who would fuck someone on the first date." He shoves the phone at his dad's chest and let's go, leaving no option but to catch it. And he's almost to the stairs before his father starts to stammer a greeting to Mr. Grey.

Fifteen minutes later, a knock on his bedroom door and his father says, "Billy?"

No shouting could be a good _or_ bad sign, but he opens the door. "Yes?"

"Do you know who Christian Grey is?"

"Yes, sir."

"So you know how embarrassing that was for me just now?"

Fucked if he'll apologize for it. "Yes, sir."

"Yes, well; I'll forgive it this one time if you forget what I implied about your girlfriend."

This is new. It's the closest to an apology that he's ever received from his father. "Of course, sir."

Returning Billy's phone, his dad asks, "And the reason I didn't know about this girl?"

Because she's beautiful and good and pure. With a practiced, casual shrug, Billy says, "Last night was our first date; hardly a long-term relationship at this stage. We haven't made plans for a second."

Finally noticing Billy's backpack on the bed, folded clothes beside it, he asks, "You were packing?"

So many times "You'll be out on your ear" has been used as a threat to ensure his cooperation, and it had worked, too; he's too smart to think that a perfect GPA would help much on the streets. But Phoebe's virtue being brought into question had meant he'd started packing before he realized that's what he was doing. "You don't get to speak of her like that."

Though he hasn't actually disclosed his feelings for Phoebe, the expression on his dad's face makes Billy certain that he understands. Thankfully, he doesn't mention it, merely saying, "Grey seems impressed with you. I'm glad to hear that you're doing our family proud."

It's intended as a compliment, so Billy says, "Thank you, sir."

"Right. Well, I'm off to the store. Keep the noise down, would you? Mom isn't feeling well this morning."

Mom is almost certainly hung-over. But Billy knows his role well and says only, "Yes, sir."

"And, uh, I understand how distracting the, uh, opposite sex can be, but you can't let it keep you from your goal; not this close to Graduation."

Not _my_ goal. "I won't." He means it; good grades from one of the best schools equals freedom.

"And you'll get the cars ready for winter soon?"

"I was just about to."

Finally, a smile, and his dad suggests, "After you unpack?"

Glad to have got off so easily, Billy also smiles and agrees, "After I unpack."

* * *

It's become a family tradition that, the day before Thanksgiving, Phoebe and her dad help out at one of Seattle's homeless shelters; preparing what passes for a home cooked meal when you don't have a home. Of course, the family donates money, too—anonymously—but actually putting in an appearance ensures that photographers follow and highlight the plight of those who don't have much to be thankful for. This year, though declaring it exempt from her punishment, he'd begged off. She's only a little disappointed. At first it had just been another fun activity with her dad. But, as Phoebe became older and more socially aware, she'd looked forward to this reminder of just how lucky she is to have been born into one of the wealthiest families on the planet.

There are familiar faces, of course; those who give their time every day of the year. But a lot of the people she'd met last year are absent. That's normal, too. Some find that one stab at charity is enough. Still, it means she gets to make new friends each time. She's wondering who this newcomer is when she realizes that she knows that head, even sporting one of those incredibly unflattering hairnets. "Billy?"

He almost drops the box of frozen vegetables. "Bee! What are you doing here?"

"Me? I've been here every year since I was eight. What are _you_ doing here?"

He smiles and puts the box aside as he says, "That explains it. I'd usually be helping Dad get ready for Black Friday…well Black Thursday nowadays. He owns a small electronics store and has to open tomorrow to compete with the chain stores. This year, he told me to take on another charity instead, and said that this place was down one pair of helping hands. I think we've been played."

"I think you're right. This is the first time Dad said he was too busy to come with me." They've been steadily moving closer, as if drawn into each other's orbit. When they're close enough for private conversation, Phoebe whispers, "I'm sorry about the press."

He'd managed to remain anonymous for a few days, but the word had got out and he'd been elevated seemingly overnight to "Phoebe Grey's boyfriend" and so many reporters had phoned the house that every call is now screened before being allowed through. He grins and says, "Me, too; that photo of you at the concert wasn't very flattering at all."

"No, I mean…oh." She smiles on realizing that he's yet again teasing. Nervously glancing around—they've not yet attracted too much attention, but they will—she then asks, "Wanna go public, or pretend we don't know each other?"

They're interrupted by an excited, "Phoebe! So good to see you again. And is this your young man?"

When Billy only shrugs in answer to Phoebe's question, she quickly ways up the pros (they can talk and hang out together) versus the cons (the press will bug them relentlessly) of letting people know, and then says, "Billy, I'd like you to meet Doris. If you get stuck for what to do, she knows everything. And, yes; this is my boyfriend, William Blake."

She looks on with pride as Billy graciously greets the aging philanthropist, and then she has to resist laughing at his slightly fearful expression when Doris drags him away to meet the rest of the regulars. He snags one of Phoebe's hands on the way past and doesn't let go. Finally, it's done and everyone gets back to work, leaving the young couple alone as if by design. Billy is looking a little shell-shocked and asks, "It'll be like this tomorrow?"

Phoebe laughs and says, "Much worse; my family are huggers."

She knows he's joking when he says, "Maybe I'll just help Dad in the store, instead."

Still, it's a lot to get used to all at once, so Phoebe says, "You could, you know? I'll understand. And this fame thing is only going to get worse from now on. I couldn't tell you how many times the alarm has gone off at the house because someone is trying to get a candid shot of the family. And I can't be in public without someone wanting to interview me. Today will only be photo ops, because that's a condition of Dad and I participating in the charity; usually, it's much more intrusive. They seem to think that being rich makes us interesting."

Putting his arms around her while they have the chance, and loving that she automatically returns the embrace, Billy grins and says, "Personally, I find you _very_ interesting."

"You know what I mean. I'm used to the attention…sort of. But…anyway, I really will understand if it's too much for you."

"You think I'd dump you to make my life easier? Phoebe, you're the only thing in my life that makes sense. Until you came along I really couldn't see the point of it all. You're my reason, okay?"

Damnit, she's blushing again. "I'm your reason?"

His smile almost hurts her, it's so full of love, and he says, "Yes." Glancing around, he asks, "Think our dads knew that we'd kiss if we got the opportunity today?"

Phoebe knows that he's asking for permission, and she can feel that her whole face is smiling. "I don't care."

* * *

That evening, Ana and Christian are snuggled together on the sofa, watching the news, when Phoebe breezes in. Since she could crawl, they've automatically created room between them when they're like this, and they do so now. Smiling, she flings herself into the vacant spot and gives them each a kiss on the cheek before saying, "Thank you."

Ana smiles at Phoebe's obvious joy and says, "All your father's doing, sweetheart. But I'm also pleased that you're accepting your punishment so well."

Phoebe leans on Christian's shoulder and says, "Thanks, Dad. That was such a nice surprise."

He kisses her forehead and asks, "I'm glad you had a good time, but it's your doing, too. As Mom says, we're glad you haven't tried to cheat and contact Billy outside school. The poor guy appeared a little stunned during the coverage, but it looked like he coped okay."

"Oh, it's been on already?"

"Yep. You just missed it, but we recorded it for you. Want to watch it now?"

Suddenly standing, Phoebe says, "No, thanks. I'll get started on my homework. He's doing the same, so we can spend all day together, tomorrow. That's okay, right? You said the whole day is exempt?"

Christian laughs a little and says, "Actually, I said he's welcome to join us at Bellevue, but you're technically correct, and I'll allow it if you get everything done tonight. Make sure you tell Taylor, okay?"

Again kissing his cheek, she cheerfully says, "Already have. Thank you."

When they're again alone, Ana and Christian move together as if they can't help it, and he comments, "She's kind of a whirlwind sometimes, isn't she?"

Ana laughs and says, "Yes; she's definitely your daughter."

"Well, this week, I'm happy to claim her. But she's yours, too. No way my genes are responsible for someone _that_ good."

Ana smiles and counters, "You're not fooling anyone on this sofa, Grey; you're still the best man I know."

Christian stares at her for several seconds, then suddenly stands, one of her hands in his, and says, "Come on, wife; I'm going to give you one more thing to be thankful for."

* * *

Replete, Billy and Phoebe are leisurely exploring the grounds of the Bellevue estate, hand in hand and ostensibly alone. So far, so good; only a few women had actually greeted him with a hug (he hadn't minded so much) and the meal had been spectacular, from canapés to cream pie. And everyone has been so accepting of him. Okay, there has been the occasional private "If you hurt Phoebe, I'll kill you" conversation, but that's to be expected. If he were Phoebe's relative, he wouldn't let a kid like him anywhere near her…fuck, he wouldn't let _any_ red-blooded male near her.

His reverie is shattered by a jovial, "Redskins or Cowboys, son?"

Billy quickly considers all implications of such a question on Thanksgiving and tentatively suggests, "Redskins?"

The old man who'd been introduced earlier as "Pop", actually Carrick Grey, jots something down on the notebook he's carrying and says "Bold call. How many points?"

Beginning to suspect that this isn't a philosophical debate, Billy glances at a clearly amused Phoebe and guesses, "Twelve?"

Pop whistles his appreciation and says "I like this kid; very courageous. Redskins by twelve it is," then moves on.

When he's gone Phoebe says, "Realize you just bet on football?"

She doesn't seem upset by his ignorance, so he smiles and says, "Nope. I take it that I picked the underdog?"

"Uh, huh; big time. But no money changes hands, so your college fund is safe. They'll watch the game then reenact it in the yard; just touch, no tackling. You're welcome to join, but no one will pressure you." Studying his expression for a second, she asks, "You really haven't done this before, have you?"

"No. Well, I think, when I was real young I remember something like this. But Mom…she doesn't do well in a crowd. So, if we celebrate it at all, we just stay home and have a store-bought dinner. And my Dad's more into stocktaking than sports. I only got permission to do badminton because it makes for a more rounded CV."

"He's expecting you to take over the business?"

"Not necessarily the store, but it's pretty much assumed that I'll study economics at Harvard, and so on and so forth, until I become founder of a Fortune 500 company."

"Oh, he must love my dad."

She says it with such lack of guile that Billy can't summon his usual resentment at the idea of his father wanting him to be someone he's not, so he's laughing and says, "You have no idea. If he wasn't working today he'd have followed me, just so he could meet everyone here, probably asking for autographs as he goes."

Phoebe smiles at the image, then loses it to ask, "So, what are you going to do? You want to get into engineering, right? All that stuff about geo-something you were discussing with Dad?"

"Yeah; renewable energy that won't sap the planet's finite resources. There's an excellent course at Stanford…actually, UW has a pretty good parallel course."

"Yeah. Dad has something to do with that one. So, you've applied to them?"

"I've been accepted, to all of them; Princeton, too. I've got until May to make my final choice."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

A good question. Billy shrugs and says, "I dunno…guess because I haven't decided yet. Dad's worked so hard to get me into Harvard, and my brother didn't get accepted, so…fuck, Bee; do we have to talk about this now?"

She looks wounded for a moment before concealing it, and says, "Of course not. I'm sorry."

And now he feels like a jerk. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I've been so focused on grades that I guess the time to make this decision kind of snuck up on me. But I have to decide soon. And this is the-rest-of-my-life stuff; I need to get it right."

Phoebe gives it serious thought—he really does love that look of concentration on her beautiful face—and says, "You should talk to Dad about this. He dropped out of Harvard to start his business, against Pop's wishes. They sort of joke about it now, but I get the impression it caused a huge rift for a while."

"Wow. You wouldn't know it. They seem real close."

Phoebe rolls her eyes and says, "Kind of my point, Billy." Suddenly steering them towards the house, she adds, "Come on. You can talk to him now, while they're all imitating sloths in front of the TV."

"Look, I don't want to interrupt the game."

She laughs and says, "Little known fact; my father isn't actually much of a sports fan. He once confessed to me that he only goes along with it to fit in…he, uh, he didn't have a very good childhood before he was adopted." She's slowing down; this must be important. "Dad used to…don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Of course not."

Phoebe nods her thanks and explains, "Dad used to feel like he didn't fit in…with humans, I mean. As if he had to learn how to behave like one. He says Mom saved him."

It's so close to how he feels that Billy says, "Bee?"

She flashes him a smile and squeezes his hand, but doesn't stop. "I know. Tell me when you're ready, okay?"

How has he been so lucky? He can't leave it like that, so stops their progress and draws her closer for a kiss. Finally ending it, he asks, "Have I told you today that I love you?" When she smiles and shakes her head, he vows, "I love you; incredibly, hopelessly and endlessly."

Did she just gasp? Her eyes are shining with love when Phoebe says, "I love you, too. Do you think, if I'm really good, Dad will shorten my punishment?"

"God, I hope so. Three weeks seems like a very long time."

"Yeah." Suddenly brightening, Phoebe leads him inside as she says, "When you talk to Dad, mention that you play the trumpet. He's a pianist, but any music is good, and might help our cause."

"Should I be afraid that you're this good at manipulation?"

She laughs and says, "Probably."

As expected, Mr. Grey is with the others, watching football on a ridiculously large television. Phoebe taps him on the shoulder. If she tolerates Billy long enough that they eventually have children, will he smile on them with absolute, unconditional love like that? Grey leaves the sofa and approaches them with a questioning expression. "Dad, do you have a few minutes to chat with Billy? College conundrum."

He's surprised, but doesn't look upset, and says, "Sure. My study will be quiet." When the two men are alone, he gestures to a chair and waits until they're both seated before asking, "What's up?"

"Uh, Phoebe says that you dropped out of Harvard?"

"I did, though I completed my degree by correspondence before she was born." With a grin, he adds, "Could hardly expect my kids to stay in school if I didn't, could I?"

Relieved that the man is keeping things congenial, Billy smiles and says, "I guess not." Then taking a deep breath, he explains, "My father is, as we speak, working his butt off to get me into Harvard…well, technically he's succeeded, as I've been accepted. He's intent on me taking on the business world, and winning. You know what I'm interested in. I've also been accepted to Stanford; _my_ first choice."

"Earth Sciences?"

"Yes, sir."

"Phoebe thinks that I can tell you to follow your heart, or some such thing, and everything will turn out okay?"

"Uh, I guess so. I didn't really have time to think about this; she just dragged me in here."

Grey chuckles and says, "Yes, she'll do that. I won't tell you what to do, Billy. It's true that it ultimately worked out for me. I love what I do for a living. And my father eventually forgave me for dropping out. But we're talking about _your_ life, not mine. One thing, though; I don't believe in heaven or hell. But, if there is a hell, the sign on the gate reads, 'If only.'"

Billy understands this. He already has a few regrets. "Yeah. Thank you, sir. I need to have a talk with my dad…and soon. Oh, Phoebe says to tell you that I play the trumpet. She's hoping that you'll like me enough to shorten her punishment."

"I do."

He can't have heard that right. "What? I mean, I beg your pardon, sir?"

Highly amused, Grey laughs and says, "You're a good kid, who will very soon be a good man. And I'm certain that Phoebe sneaking out was a one-off. Your word, as a gentleman, that you won't tell her?" At Billy's nod, he reveals, "I'll only ground her for another week. It doesn't seem fair that you get punished, too."

"Thank you, sir. I'm not sure what to say."

Standing, Grey says, "That'll do…though you should know that it's mainly my wife's doing. Ana simply cannot bear the thought of you pining for Phoebe every evening when you haven't done anything wrong."

Also standing, Billy says, "Thank you, both of you. I can't…I don't know what I imagined Bee's family would be like, but this wasn't it; you've all been amazing."

"No problem, son. And I think that I can tolerate you calling me 'Christian' from now on."

"I don't think that I could do that, sir."

Grey laughs and opens the door as he says, "See? What's not to like? You'd better get back to Phoebe while you can. She says you have to leave around five?"

"Yes, sir. I need to take over from my dad so he can grab some food and sleep. We're open all night. I've got the evening shift."

"And you'll almost certainly be on cleanup here before you go. The housekeeper has the day off; only those who helped cook and the winner of the bet get to sit through it."

"Oh, did not know that. I would have helped out, anyway."

They already heading back to the living area as Christian says, "I know, Billy; that's a surer bet than even the Cowboys."

The Redskins win, by eight points, and Billy is elevated to the status of prophet by an incredulous and jovial clan. Later, they give the young couple enough privacy that he can properly kiss Phoebe goodbye. It takes even longer to bid everyone else farewell, then he's loaded up with plates of leftovers and chauffeured to work—already missing her—but too happy to mind, after the best day of his entire life.

* * *

Decades-old instincts mean that Taylor sits bolt upright in bed when his phone beeps an alert. It's the front gate. Glancing at the time, to see that it's a little after three, he opens the app that lets him see what the main camera is looking at; two uniformed cops and a dejected William Blake, draped in a blanket. What the fuck is going on? That kid would never do anything to get arrested. Dialing the number that patches him through to the gate intercom, he says, "Yeah?"

"Seattle PD, sir. We're looking for a Jason Taylor?"

"Speaking. I'll be right there."

He's hurriedly getting dressed when a very sleepy Gail asks, "What's going on?"

"Not sure. I think Phoebe's Billy in some sort of trouble."

She's instantly awake and sits up to ask, "Is he okay?"

God, how he loves this about her; she's met the kid exactly twice and already loves him enough to be very worried. "He seems fine, but he's at the gate with a couple of cops. Just go back to sleep. I'll take care of it."

Reaching for her robe, Gail says, "I'm awake now. I'll make us all a snack."

"He's not coming in here."

"Jason Taylor; he's only seventeen and _has_ a home. If he's here instead, at this hour, it's for a very good reason. You'll fetch him and he'll have cocoa and toast while we find out why."

Of course, she's right; the kid _must_ be in dire straits. "Do you know how much I love you?"

"No more than I love you." When he's still smiling at her a few seconds later, she chides, "Well, go on; it's freezing out there, and take your coat."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't 'ma'am' me; I'm not your boss…not a word!"

Taylor snaps his mouth shut on the obvious retort and chuckles while he does exactly as instructed; shrugging on his overcoat before heading outside—fuck, it really is near freezing—and jogging to the gate. In a two-man patrol, one will always be in charge. He quickly ascertains that it's the woman and says, "I'm Jason Taylor. How can I help you?"

She approaches and quietly asks, "You know this young man?"

"Yes, ma'am. He's William Blake, and he's a good kid. If he's in trouble, I doubt it was his fault."

Billy looks up at his name. Only then does Taylor see the black eye and, if he's learned anything over the years, the kid is also nursing a serious arm injury. His instinctive need to protect the victim means that his blood is burning with anger when the policewoman explains, "We found him at a nearby playground; half frozen. He's given us only his name and yours, has refused medical treatment and doesn't want us take him home…might even be where he got those injuries. At seventeen, he's old enough to make such choices. But we can't leave him out here, and the shelters are full. Are you prepared to put him up for the night? We can look into emergency housing first thing, but the alternative right now is incarceration, for his safety."

Taylor unlocks and opens the side gate as he says, "That won't be necessary, thank you. My wife is already making him a snack. He'll be safe here."

The woman is visibly relieved and says, "Thank you. We'll check in on him later today."

"Thanks, again. Do you have time to come in? I'm sure Gail is making too much for three people."

"No, thank you. We have to keep moving. Lots of people in his condition, I'm afraid…though they're mostly also intoxicated. I don't think he's had a drink."

Something Christian said comes to mind and Taylor says, "I don't think he does."

Billy has edged closer, dropping the blanket from his shoulders and offering it to the other cop, who says, "Keep it, son."

The poor kid is in shock…probably hypothermic, too. Taylor steps forward and guides him through the gate, saying, "Come on, Billy; let's get you warm."

In a bleak monotone, Billy mutters, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He's inside the gate when he thinks to turn and address the cops. "Thank you."

The woman is clearly moved by his plight and manages a smile as she says, "No problem, Billy. I'll look in on you later. Get some sleep, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The patrol car is out of sight, and they're almost to the bungalow when Billy says, "Thank you, sir. I'll be going now."

"The fuck you will. Gail will murder me if I let you go."

Apparently, the kid has _some_ strength left, because he straightens and insists, "You can't keep me here."

"No? Try and get past me." He means it, too; no way is this kid spending another second on the streets.

Billy's shoulders slump as he surrenders to his fate and begs, "Please; I don't want Phoebe to know about this."

"Know about what?"

Three full seconds pass before Billy lowers his gaze and says only, "Nothing."

Avoiding the injured arm, Taylor steers Billy inside, saying, "Fine. Keep it to yourself. But you're going no further than my kitchen right now, then my sofa for the rest of the night. And, if you don't want Phoebe to know you're here, don't try and sneak out, or you'll set off the alarm and wake the entire household."

Apparently, Billy's entered a sullen silent mode, because he makes no reply. Only Taylor knows that Gail is fighting a strong urge to embrace the kid when she sees his battered appearance. But she merely pulls out a chair for him at their dining table and instructs, "Eat."

Confident that the teenager isn't going anywhere, Taylor follows when Gail heads into the living room, and embraces her when she silently turns to him for comfort. "Hush, my love; he's safe now."

Gail stays in his arms for several seconds, then dries her eyes and whispers, "You think, his father?"

"Maybe. Luke dropped the kid off at the family store in Lake City Way after Thanksgiving dinner. That's all I know. If you're strong enough, how about you use your maternal powers on him while I make up the sofa and find something he can use as pajamas?"

That's made her smile, and Gail echoes, "Maternal powers?"

"Yeah, you know; mother it out of him. You're good at that."

Being a mother is, by far, the thing she's most proud of, and she literally thanks God every day for the chance to find that out with Victor. She stretches up to kiss him and says, "I love you, Jason Taylor."

"I know."

Gail rewards/punishes him with a smack on the butt for his arrogance as she returns to the kitchen. Billy is still munching away on the raisin toast as if it has no flavor. She sits down opposite him and sips her hot chocolate. He swallows and says, "I'm sorry."

Is he _trying_ to break her heart? She manages to hold off more tears and say, "No need, Billy. I'm just glad you're safe. Is your arm broken?"

Apparently, he's surprised that she's noticed, but he's holding it in his lap, using only his left hand for everything. "Uh, I don't know, but it hurts like hell."

"May I examine it? If it's broken, we should really do something about it, or it might set crooked."

"Okay. Thanks."

Dragging a chair close, Gail moves slowly enough not to spook him as she lifts his arm and, gently as possible, rolls his sleeve back to reveal a raised bruise on his forearm. This was done with a weapon, probably metal, and she pushes aside her immediate anger, so he won't hear it in her voice. "This is going to hurt, I'm afraid." When he only grits his teeth and nods permission, she tenderly presses on the site, and then gets him to move his wrist. He hisses in pain a couple of times, but doesn't cry out. "Thankfully, not actually broken, though you may have a fracture. We'll get an x-ray later. For now, how about some painkillers and an ice pack? Then you might be able to get some sleep."

He's finally able to weep, just as Jay enters the room; luckily only in her line of sight. She waves him away even as she embraces Billy. The poor kid's silent tears turn to sobs and then a kind of keening. When he eventually calms down enough for speech, he splutters, "I can't do it anymore. I just can't."

"You father, sweetheart?"

"No. Dad is strict, but he wouldn't hurt a fly."

That doesn't leave many options. "Your mother?" When he says nothing, she has her answer. Scanning her memory for what little she knows about Billy, Gail soon guesses, "Alcohol?" This time, his loyalty to his mother relaxes enough for him to nod. She reaches for a few napkins and puts them in his hand as she says, "Never mind about that now. Dry your eyes and finish your snack while I go and see what's taking Jay so long."

Billy only nods and meekly does as he's told. She's almost to the door when he says, "Ma'am?" Wondering if she'll make it to the next room before again weeping, Gail nervously turns back. He smiles, for the first time since he got here, and says, "Thank you."

That's done it. Gail can feel the tears rolling down her cheeks as she says, "Any time, Billy."

* * *

When Billy wakes up, it's to pain; he's sleeping on his injured arm. But the physical pain is nothing compared to how he feels when he rolls over and sees that Phoebe is watching over him, and that she's been crying. Last night's events coming back to him in a horrifying second, he nervously says, "Hey."

Without a word, she joins him on the thankfully large sofa. Ignoring the injury to embrace her, he knows better than to say anything as she silently draws comfort from the embrace. She doesn't cry, but sounds very sad when she eventually asks, "Your mother is an alcoholic?"

Shocked that the Taylors betrayed him, Billy suddenly realizes and asks, "Victor?"

"Yes. He's in trouble, though I'm pleading his case; he was just doing me a favor. I'd just had breakfast when he texted me that you were here, and why. When I asked to see you, Uncle Jay said to him, 'Eavesdropping is a very unattractive habit,' and Vic said, 'From the guy who practically does it for a living.'"

"Shit. That was brave. They won't hurt him?"

"Of course not. Actually, I swear Uncle Jay looked proud. Vic wouldn't say 'boo' when he first got here, and still doesn't say much except to me. I think it's the first time he's stood up to anyone."

"There's a lot of that going around."

"_Please_ tell me. I won't love you less, I promise. I just want to understand."

She pretty much knows, anyway. "Mom's tried to quit, so many times, but it never works for very long and she's always genuinely remorseful after every session...assuming she remembers any of it. Dad says we need to be understanding, and I agree. But he's never there when she gets drunk enough to…I'm not his kid."

He can feel her sudden tension, and Phoebe asks, "What?"

"Mom had an affair; I don't know who with. I think Dad knows that I'm not his, but he's never said anything or actively used it against me. But he's not affectionate with me, and I think…sometimes, I catch him looking at me weird, and I think he's trying to work out who my real father is. But Mom…she's…I think she sees me and remembers how she fucked up. When she's sober it's okay, though we'll never be close like she is with Eric. It's gotten worse since he went away to college. When she's on a bender, I become the source of all her misery."

"You know you're not, right? None of this is your fault."

"In quiet moments, yeah. Certainly, it's easier to believe that I'm not suffering some god-awful karmic punishment since I met you."

When Phoebe lifts her face to his for a kiss, he feels the moisture and knows that she's been silently weeping this whole time. But she settles back against him and asks, "So, what happened last night? She doesn't normally get violent, or I would have seen sign of it before now."

"She does, but it's just slapping me around or throwing stuff while she screams abuse at me. Last night…oh, I told Dad I'm going to Stanford."

She shines her smile on him and says, "Billy, that's wonderful! How did he take it?"

He can't help a chuckle at the sudden mood shift and says, "Good…well, he didn't break down or rant at me, just asked me a bunch of questions to make sure that it was what I really wanted. Then he kind of laughed and said, 'Looks like I'm gonna go down with the ship.' I don't think the store is doing too well."

Phoebe again snuggles into his chest—he could definitely do this every day for the rest of his life—and says, "Don't worry; I have a feeling that business is about to improve."

"Not charity? Dad wouldn't accept it."

She rests a hand on his chest—he could get used to that, too—and says, "No. Just deserved recognition for all his hard work, but never mind about that. Your mom?"

"Oh. Well, it was going…not okay, but it was going normal, until she…let's just say she was less than flattering about you."

"But she's never even met me."

Holder her a little tighter, despite the pain, Billy says, "It's not about you, or me. She's not well. But I couldn't…I got mad enough to start throwing out booze; I've done it before, but usually have the sense to wait she's passed out. When she couldn't stop me, she got desperate enough to grab the nearest weapon, which happened to be the poker by the fireplace."

Suddenly sitting up out of his arms, ironically exacerbating his injury, Phoebe exclaims, "God, your arm! Vic said something about it being broken?"

"Not broken, though I could do with a couple more Tylenol about now."

Phoebe practically leaps to her feet as she says, "I'll get it; you stay there."

"Uh, actually, I need a bathroom before I do anything else."

"Of course." Blushing, Phoebe points to a door and says, "Just through there."

"Thanks. Do you think there's any chance that Mr. Taylor won't tell your dad about this?"

"Uh, they're at your house…well, probably on the way back by now."

Mom didn't actually manage to hit him in the head with the poker, so he knows he doesn't have a concussion, but that simply does not compute. "What?"

"Dad and Uncle Jay are picking up a few of your things, so you can stay here until we find something better." Then grinning, Phoebe adds, "If you're going to run away from home, you should at least take your phone, maybe even the car keys."

Has he slipped through a wormhole and emerged in another dimension? "Well, I didn't really plan to…fuck, they're really at my house…in my room?"

She laughs and asks, "Why; did you really go with the Phoebe Grey wallpaper?"

"No, but…crap, they won't look _too_ hard, will they?"

He sees comprehension light her face, and Phoebe says, "I doubt they're that stupid. Besides, Dad knows you want to have sex with me."

Glad that she already seems less embarrassed about discussing this stuff, Billy says, "Maybe, but I doubt he'll want to see the proof."

Just then her phone beeps and she checks it, then reveals, "Apparently not an issue, because your father met them at the house and is coming here with everything you'll need, including your car. So you'd better go pee."

It's no good; his brain isn't up to the task of understanding what's going on. "I live _here_ now?"

Phoebe smiles and says, "Yes, but only until they find a better solution; probably a night or two. Dad's blood pressure wouldn't tolerate longer of you sleeping a hundred yards from me."

He laughs at that and agrees "Yeah," then says, "Bee, I might love your family."

She kisses his cheek and says, "Good, because my family apparently love _you_. Go pee."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Billy is eating more of Gail's famous sourdough raisin toast—this time actually able to enjoy it—when they hear the front door open. He gets a parting kiss on the cheek from Phoebe_ and_ Gail, and is alone when his father enters the kitchen. "Hey, Dad."

For the first time since he can remember, his father embraces him. Billy is then shocked to see tears in the big man's eyes when he almost touches the now quite vivid black eye and says, "Oh, son; what have I done to you?"

"You didn't do it, Dad. I'm okay. But I can't go back there."

Releasing Billy and sitting down next to him, as if suddenly too weary to stand, his father says, "I know. Aunt Sarah is cleaning out her spare room as we speak; should be ready by tomorrow. If you're okay with it, she's very happy to have you until you start at Stanford."

"Mom's sister? I thought she hated us?"

"She hates the booze, son, not us."

Almost afraid to know, Billy asks, "And how _is_ Mom?"

"Sorry and sore…_very_ sorry. Did you send the cops to the house last night?"

"What? No. They arrested her?"

"No. And they won't, unless you press charges…I'll support you if you do, by the way. But they put the fear of God into her. Mom swears she'll go to rehab this time; do it right."

Billy has heard that promise before. "That's great, Dad. But I'm still not coming home."

"Me, neither. Enough is enough. I'll sleep at the store until I find a place. Billy, please believe me; I had no idea it was that bad. Meg was still drunk enough when I got home to tell me everything. Son, if you'd just told me…"

God, the normally stoic man is crying again. Completely out of his element—they've never had a close relationship—Billy puts a hand over his father's and says, "It's okay, Dad. I don't blame you."

Angrily dashing the tears away, he says, "You fucking should. I should have been there for you. But I thought that making enough money to ensure you never have to struggle was the right thing to do…not even realizing that you were going through hell while I was working."

"It's not that bad. She's mostly okay. Just…when you're not there and…Dad, do you know…?" It's so hard; even now, knowing that his parents' marriage is effectively over, he still can't easily say the words. One deep breath gives him the courage to ask, "Do you know, that you're not really my father?"

He knows. Billy can see it in his eyes. But the man who has done his best to raise him says, "I may not be your father, but you will _always_ be my son. I'm so proud of you."

Fuck, now _he's_ crying. Billy wipes the tears away and says, "Lot of weeping going on around here."

"Your late grandmother always said that we cry so others will know what we care about the most. I'm thrilled to learn that I'm your reason to cry."

Somehow it seems natural to hug this time. When they finally get embarrassed enough to end it, his father vows, "Things will get better from now on, I promise."

"They already are, Dad. Have you had breakfast?"

Clearly confused, his father says, "Uh, no. When Mr. Taylor called the store to let me know that you were safe, I was…well, you can imagine that I was shocked; I thought you were already safe, in your own bed. He said you were sleeping, so I decided you were best off here. I went home to find out what the hell was going on, only to see the police there. It's been…an interesting morning."

Billy smiles; that was a lot of information for a simple question. "I only ask, because this is the best raisin toast you'll ever have, and there's plenty to go around."

Of course, Billy understands that his father is talking about more than toast when he says, "Thank you, son."

* * *

Epilogue:

It's mid-December, and a particularly chilly day in Seattle. When Phoebe logs on that evening, there's already an email from Billy, entitled: "Interesting development." Curious, she opens it to read, "Thought it only fair to let Harvard know that my application was bullshit. The first attachment is my letter to them. The second is self-explanatory.

Have I told you today that I love you?"

Smiling, she opens the attachment marked "No more bullshit":

_What do you do if you're raised by an alcoholic? What does it teach you? I learned to keep secrets. I could do that even before I could speak them. "Sshh; Mommy is sleeping," means Mommy is passed out, again. But I never told. I learned to lie; so well that I even believed some of them. "Mom's come down with the flu, and won't be able to drive me to practice, so I'll be a little late," means Mom is puking her guts out and still too drunk, at ten o'clock in the morning, to safely drive, so I caught the bus, again…and, still, I never told._

_And the secrets go deeper, and the lies get bigger, until your entire life is a lie and no one knows; not even your closest friends…not even your hardworking father, who's only remaining dream is that you get into Harvard. And then you start to wonder; is it worth it? Is this all I get for all my effort; more of the same? See, the other thing I learned is to be a good son. That must have been one of the first lessons, because it hasn't made sense for a while now…I almost can't believe that I was ever naive enough to believe that doing everything perfectly could make someone love me. I needed a different reason to excel; my own reason. But the lie had become so big that I couldn't break free. And I was stuck living someone else's life._

_And then someone comes along who shows you that your lies and secrets mean nothing; that they see past all your bullshit to the real you…the person you thought you'd hidden so well. And they love you anyway. Have you ever felt that fear? Did it ever not change your life completely? I doubt it. My life will never be the same again and, much as it terrifies me, I'm glad of it. I needed to change; to grow up._

_I'm telling you this because I'm finally ready to refute my lies and reveal my secrets. I'm telling you in detail, and in print, because I need practice at living honestly. I've never been interested in economics. I want to study this planet, our home; what makes it work and how we can treat it a little better. So I respectfully withdraw my application to your excellent university, because my mother needs me…my earth mother._

So Phoebe has to wipe the tears from her eyes before opening the second attachment. There's a short note, apparently from Harvard Admissions, that says, "Whilst we just as respectfully accept your decision, Mr. Blake, we hope you'll reconsider." Below it are the details of a course: Environmental Science and Engineering.

Confused, she calls Billy and asks, "You're going to Harvard?"

"I think so…maybe. I don't know how I missed that course. I guess that I was so busy feeling angry at being pressured to go there, that I never really gave it a chance."

"You _want_ to go there?"

Billy is quiet for a moment, and then says, "Yeah, I do. The course is exactly what I want; better even than Stanford. And the one good thing about Dad's business not doing so well is that I qualify for full financial aid; he won't have to pay a cent. Uh, the only thing is that I'll be so far away from you. I know that shouldn't matter, but it does."

"Will you love me less if you're three thousand miles away?"

"Of course not, Bee. But I'll love you less often. We'll only see each other between semesters."

"Which would also be the case if you went to Stanford. You know very well that you're going to be studying most of the time. And, something else; I'm going to Harvard, and I'll get there early. I'll be there before you start your Graduate Program."

"How can you know that already? You're only fifteen."

"Because I've already been accepted, but mainly because I've wanted this since I was four. That dream that your father had for you? That's pretty much my dream; Lakeside School then Harvard and finally Harvard Business School. You are speaking to the future Treasurer of the United States of America."

"I believe you."

She's never told anyone her full dream, for fear that they'd laugh at her. "You really do, don't you?"

"I'm sure you can do anything you set your mind to, Bee…though, make sure you get someone to check your application essay for spelling mistakes, won't you?"

She smiles at this justified criticism of her language skills and says, "Not nice. And how are you going to become an environmental engineer when you're so bad at math?"

"Guess we'll just have to help each other achieve our dreams."

Phoebe releases a trembling breath and says, "I like that plan. And, no, you haven't told me today."

It's become a daily ritual. He's good with words, but she's curious to see how long he goes before he starts repeating himself. He's not there yet, because he doesn't even pause to warmly promise, "I love you, passionately."

He can make her blush even when he's not here. "I like that one."

He chuckles, making her wonder if he somehow knows that her face is red, and says, "Me, too. Well, if you're going to be Treasurer, you'd better get started on your homework."

He's right. Her punishment has been lifted, but only on the understanding that her relationship with Billy doesn't adversely affect her grades. "You'll stay with me?"

"Of course." Even as he says that, a chat window opens in the corner of her computer screen, with the words: "Here I am, down here."

She giggles and says, "Thank you. I love you, William Blake."

"And I love you, Phoebe Grey…faithfully, desperately and eternally."

Smiling, she says, "Now you're just showing off."

"Yes, I am. Is it working?"

She laughs again and jokes, "Must be; I can't remember why I logged on."

He chuckles and says, "Homework?"

"Oh, right. Oh, how's your mom?"

"Still not allowed contact…hopefully by Christmas, if all goes according to plan. But they tell me she's doing well. I've done a bit of research, and your Gran is helping me understand the process. By now, Mom will over the worst of the physical withdrawals, but it sounds like hell on earth. Still, it'll be worth it if she can stay sober this time." He's quiet for a moment, and then says, "I can't believe how much I miss her."

"You love her, Billy; that's not hard to believe at all." When he makes no reply, Phoebe adds, "I love how you love."

"You do?"

"Yes. And I liked your letter, too. Were you really afraid of me when we met?"

"Still am, Bee; I've seen you fight now, remember?"

Phoebe giggles at the memory of how Billy had watched her last tournament (she'd won; not just her division, but Junior Female Athlete of the Year) and then pretended to be scared of her for the rest of the day. "I'm being serious."

He's laughing, and says "Oh, yes; sounds like it," but then more seriously reveals, "I'm less afraid as time goes on. But it's still scary knowing that you love me for who I am, because I'm not yet sure who the hell that is, but I'm getting there."

Every now and then they sound like adults. "I guess that's what this growing up time is for?"

"I guess. Speaking of which, hang up and get to work."

Smiling, she says, "No, you hang—"

Son-of-a-bitch; he did! She's still in shock when, in the chat window, appears: "…playfully."

The End

* * *

Where credit's due: Christian and Phoebe's song is "For Phoebe Still a Baby" by the Cocteau Twins. Dunno about you, but when I imagine my version of Christian singing those lyrics to his infant daughter, I come over all funny ;-)


End file.
